


Came For The Fun, eh?

by Glitched_Opportunity



Series: Kinktober 2020 Collection, AG [1]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Borderlands (Video Games), 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Asphyxiation, Biting, Cock Warming, Duct Tape, F/M, Gags, Hair-pulling, Handcuffs, Hostage Roleplay, Humiliation, Kissing, Knifeplay, Licking, Lingerie, M/M, Mirror Sex, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Overstimulation, Pinned, Sensory Deprivation, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Teasing, Tickling, Touching, Vibrators, metal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:07:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 27,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26755546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glitched_Opportunity/pseuds/Glitched_Opportunity
Summary: My masterlist of short oneshots related to the promptsTags will be added as I go
Relationships: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Shigaraki Tomura | Shimura Tenko, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Chris Redfield/Albert Wesker, Fl4K/Zer0 (Borderlands), Handsome Jack/Rhys (Borderlands), Jake Muller/Piers Nivans, Katagawa Jr./Rhys (Borderlands), Leon S. Kennedy/Chris Redfield, Piers Nivans/Chris Redfield, Troy Calypso/Aurelia Hammerlock, Troy Calypso/Katagawa Jr.
Series: Kinktober 2020 Collection, AG [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948933
Comments: 18
Kudos: 91





	1. Summary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:  
> Ship:  
> Tags:  
> Will all go here!

( _Borderlands, Boku No Hero Academia, Resident Evil_ )

 ~~Rarepair hell~~ Kinda

A few things you might want to know:

I will be posting something for every prompt, but they might end up getting delayed for one reason or another. Just know that everything will be posted. 

If you want any of these turned into longer/full stories, just comment on the chapter and I’ll see if I can work on it. The only reason they all aren’t full stories is time constraints. But if the demand is there, I’m more than happy to deliver. :) 

Any full stories added will be separate, and will be done near the end of or after October (I'll add links at the end of the chapter for convenience too). Any continued works will all be apart of the same series as well. 

If you have anything specific with a full fic you’d want, feel free to mention it and I’ll see about adding it. 

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this chaos! :)

Prompt Masterlist:

1\. ~~Teasing~~

2\. ~~Kissing~~

3\. ~~Licking~~

4\. ~~Tickling~~

5\. ~~Tape~~

6\. ~~Knifeplay~~

7\. ~~Metal~~

8\. ~~Lingerie~~

9\. ~~Cuffs~~

10\. ~~overstimulation~~

11\. ~~Hair pulling~~

12\. ~~Drugging~~

13\. ~~Hostage (roleplay)~~

14\. ~~Toys/Vibrator~~

15\. ~~Sensory Deprivation~~

16\. ~~Cock Warming~~

17\. ~~Gags~~

18\. ~~Biting~~

19\. ~~Humiliation~~

20\. ~~Pinned~~

21\. ~~Butt plug~~

22\. ~~Asphyxiation~~

23\. ~~Touch~~

24\. ~~Mirrors~~

25\. Pegging/Strap-ons

26\. Orgasm Denial/Delay

27\. Collared

28\. Lap Dance

29\. Somnophilia

30\. Hate Fuck

31\. Tentacles


	2. Teasing (Troy x Aurelia)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting over my fear of writing women, here we go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 1: Teasing  
> Ship: Troy Calypso x Aurelia Hammerlock  
> Tags: Possible dom/sub undertones, definite praise kink

Troy finds himself fidgeting more often than normal, flexing his fingers and shifting where he lay back on comfortable sheets that belong to neither of them. He can feel the muscles in his chest move, the phantom sensation of his right arm. Without his prosthetic the only thing that moves is the small joint that's replaced his shoulder. He feels undoubtedly vulnerable right now, like something important has been ripped from him because it _has_.

'But that's okay,' he reminds himself. 

Ice blue eyes burn over the other body in the room, fixated on her neck and shoulders as Aurelia meticulously rids herself of her plush coat. There’s no rush, letting the Azure fabric sag over her arms to bare light-warmed flesh. Soft patches of purple draw the Siren’s eyes. He wants to reach out, wants to sink his teeth back into her throat with synthetic canines and leave a painting of marks that fur trim will later hide. Troy worries his lip instead, flesh hand balling at his side. He whines low in his throat, eyes wandering down. The thin shirt she wears beneath everything robs him of anything more than an outline. 

“Now, boy. Be patient.” Aurelia snickers. She makes no effort to speed along her actions, taking care as she slides each sleeve off her arm. 

With disappointment evident on his face, Troy swallows. 

Aurelia’s jacket is set gently off to the side, a stark contrast to how Troy’s own had been roughly discarded. Her shirt is next, bunched together at the base as she drags it up her chest. Impatience bubbles inside Troy, wanting to touch everything he can as her chest is bared, save for her fitting cyan bra. Troy tries to reach for her, shoulder plating shifting with a movement he couldn’t execute. His prosthetic rests forgotten on the loveseat at the end of the bed, slumped sadly much like he is. He inwardly curses, trying to sit up so he could pull her closer. A difficult task with only one arm. But Aurelia is quicker. Cold palm on his chest, she pushes him back down until his back is firmly against the mattress. 

“Patience.” Her voice is stern this time. 

Troy’s fist tangles in the sheets. 

Aurelia crawls atop him, knees settling on either side of his thighs, caging them closed. The meat of them rubs together, fruitless is their attempt to stimulate himself in his now uncomfortably tight pants. All that does is rile him further, leaving him aching. The Baroness' hand trails down his stomach, teasingly close to his navel, to the start of his happy trail. The other reaches for his arm, guiding it above Troy’s head where she easily slides his hand under the pillows. He obediently twines his digits in the sheets there, grip painful and tight. 

Aurelia traces his red markings, featherlight as her nails draw their way down to the tattoos on his chest. No longer obscured by chains, she is free to see all of his faded ink. She has to admit, the intricate pattern that made up the 'wings' of that menacing skull were her favourite, small lines filled with smaller ones that she followed to the tips with well kept nails. Troy shivers. At the center, she rakes them down the skull, stopping just before the bold text on his stomach. Static crawls up his skin, arms filling with goosebumps. Trying to bite back his groan, Troy arches into the touch. 

“F-fuck..” 

Aurelia smirks, following around the text to the honeycomb marks outlining his stomach. The lines around them were beautiful as well, sharp and without flaw. How they pointed down his hips only to disappear under his pants. His belt already discarded, there were no obstacles in her way for nimble digits to hook under Troy’s waistband, slipping the loose material down his hips. They collect at his thighs just above hers, further caging his own together. She finds the end of the lines, thumbs biting into the half circles at the bottom.

Troy jumps, “Aurelia-,” then wines, rubbing his thighs when they tense

The friction isn’t near enough, only worsening his problem as the material of his boxers move against him, the friction less now without his jeans to help. Her hands are so close, cool against his warm skin. They remain stubbornly planted on his tattoos. 

“Aurelia, please-!”

The Baroness shushes him like he's little more than an unruly child. She soothes up his sides, leaning forward to press her lips to his cheek. Aurelia kisses a line up to his ear, breath a warm puff as she speaks against him, “You can wait, can’t you, _God-King?”_

The siren whines. He nearly lets out a sob, a sound much too eager and pathetic for him to make. Not now, now while he’s still far too self-aware. Later.. when she's gotten him right where she wants like she manages every time..

“Answer me.” Her nails dig painfully into his chest. 

“Ngh- y-yes! I can.” The pillow bunches visibly above his hand. His ankles cross, toes curling as his body tries to arch fully against her. Her strength was more than he would have expected, able to pin him like it was easy.

“Good boy.” 

Troy is rewarded with her mouth on his neck, gentle teeth working his skin to an angry red. He misses her hands bracing beside his head, weight shuffling forward, until she settles down on him, grinding her jean-clad legs down on his dick. Troy gasps, bucking his hips upwards, but Aurelia is quick to push him back down. His disappointed groan is morphed into one of pleasure as she bites down on his collar. With the welcome distraction on his neck, it's almost easy to miss how her thighs clench around him. The fabric trapped in his hand cries, threatening to tear as he pulls against it. But he won't touch her. He'll try and be good. Anything to hear her string of praises wrap around him and fill his belly with warmth. 

Aurelia’s mouth is like magic, leaving a tingling trail of cold behind each kiss, each lick. The work she puts into her actions is one she takes pride in, especially now as Troy releases these beautiful sounds and soft whimpers. He’s squirming beneath her, almost moving with her touch as he trails down his stomach, leaving an icy line down his abs. But she stops just before his navel, drawing back. When Troy tries to follow, she plants her hand flat on his chest again.

“Ah ah, Troy. We have all night to prove you can be patient.”


	3. Kissing (Shigaraki x Aizawa)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not often he lets his shields down. Less so when he takes off 'father'.  
> Or Aizawa comforts Shiggy and he realizes just how good a kiss can be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2: Kissing  
> Ship: Shigaraki x Aizawa  
> Tags: Self injury, Fluff ig, it's a hero au of sorts

The burning in his neck has long since been drowned out. Methodical scratching left angry red against unhealthy white. How he hasn’t yet broken his skin is a feat of it’s own. But soon, beads of warm blood would prickle out and stain his nails crimson. He can feel it now, slick and wet as he scratches further and further until the pain is so much he has to stop. The stinging itself is intense. 

He doesn't wear 'Father'. It's the one clutch he thinks he'd beg for right now if only to feel comforted by the grip of it's fingers on his face. Instead, he keeps his head down, letting his shaggy hair crowd around his features. It adds to his disheveled appearance greatly, something that would have made his teammates turn their heads. Kurogiri might not have. He was calming. He had a way with words that would ease Shigaraki down from whatever he was feeling. But he didn't have that option. 

Right now, air was the only thing he sought. The cool breeze from the evening grazes his body, sending a chill straight through him. It is a blessing on his body. Though it has yet to calm him, it lets him feel less claustrophobic, lets him feel like he can move and fill his lungs. He wouldn't outright say it, but being in a room with so many heroes and law enforcement made it seem like the walls were caving in on him in ways that only sent his brain spiraling down a hole of grim thoughts. He just.. _couldn't_ stay. He was sure they understood that. They didn't _stop_ him from leaving after all. 

Shagaraki's feet carry him down what feels like a familiar path, leading him away from the main streets that were still littered with oblivious people. He found himself down the back roads he used to travel. It isn't hard to find something more secluded, an alley that was devoid; And, although it was narrow, the emptiness of it make it feel like a sanctuary for him.  With a sigh, Shigaraki slumps against the alley’s wall, sliding down until he is sitting on concrete. 

Staying here for a while is a tempting idea. Quiet and dark as it was, it felt a little bit like home. 

A short buzz comes from his phone, dark pocket flashing to white for a small moment from it's screen. A message? It was too short to be a call. Grumbling to himself, Shigaraki reaches for it. He doesn’t care what it says, instead silencing the device. That gifts him the silence he previously had. 

The scratching slows, fingers now resting against the angry marks they've carved. He has to force them to stay like that. He can feel his digits twitching, wrists locking to try and keep still. Shigaraki closes his eyes, focusing on his steady breathing to try and stop his body from betraying him. And he manages if only for a short while. A minute or two is a great success in his books, far longer than he's managed before. But his nails dig right back into his skin. 

Shigaraki doesn't worry about drawing blood. 

A hand grabs his arm and he reacts instantly. Reaching out for his assailant, that arm too is captured in an unrelenting grip. So he does as he thinks necessary. Trapped against a wall, flailing is little more than squirming against the other, legs trying to kick his supposed attacker, but they never connect. A familiar voice shouts at him, distant in his ears that are flooded with blood that rushes to his skull in his adrenaline induced panic. 

“-mura! Tomura! Calm down!”

Eraserhead.

Struck with confusion and still reeling from the sudden rush, Shigaraki freezes. He stares through messy locks at the darkened figure in front of him holding his arms. He catches glimpses of red streaking down his nails. His chest heaves with a hiccupped breath, heart rapidly thumping away in it's confines. He feels numb and warm all over again. 

Blinking a few times, Shigaraki stutters, “W-what are you..?”

“I sent you a text.” The hero is gruff, kneeling closer now that Shigaraki is unlikely to strike him, “I thought you'd have seen it.” 

“Oh..” 

Shigaraki flexes his digits, watching the gleam of moonlight reflecting in blood, his blood. His neck couldn’t have looked good right now. It must have been a bright red, bubbling up with cells just trying to do their job. And now that he dwells on it, the burn returns, radiating up his jaw and down to his collar. Familiarity did nothing to dull the fresh cuts, blossoming like a rotting rose, jagged and horrible and certain to bruise. 

“I got a message that you just.. Left," the hero sighs, eyes filled with what could only be pity, "I didn't think it was this bad."

Shigaraki looks away, balling his fists. His nails bite into his palms.  The younger man doesn’t try to free his arms, only slumping into the firm hold he finds himself in. Perhaps it was safer like this. 

Now that one confused, Aizawa blanks. Shigaraki should be fighting him over this, over being so vulnerable in front of anyone. Save for his bouts of anger. There was no tooth or nail to fight with, no energy to see him acting as he would. It's.. concerning to see the man deflate in front of him like this. 

“Shigaraki-”

“Shouldn’t you take me back?” The smaller snaps, though there’s little bite to his voice. He might have called in more nasally as well. 

Aizawa squints. Shigaraki’s hiding his face, nothing new to that, but there’s a red to it that is.

The hero releases an arm in favour of cupping Shigaraki’s face, turning it back to look at him. Shigaraki grabs his arm this time, one finger out, jerking his head back. Aizawa doesn't need to see it. The man's already confirmed his thoughts. 

“You're crying.”

Was he? There was a tackiness to his cheeks, remnants of wet. His eyes burn, but his whole face burns, warm and uncomfortable. He doesn’t want Shota to look at him.

Eraserhead is stronger than he is. So much so that he can hardly put up a fight when the hero ensnares both wrists in one hand, using his free hand to hold his chin. He tilts it up like he’s inspecting his neck, Shigaraki knows that's what he's doing, but he knows can see it too, the puffiness and red staining his face. It’s disgusting. He _feels_ disgusting. The thin streams painting his face were gross, burning the dry skin under his eyes. He wants to crawl away. _Needs_ to hide somewhere. 

A mouth is on his before he can move, soft and damp. Shigaraki tenses, retreating back into the wall in his shock. The hero follows him, crowds him entirely.  Shigaraki’s too stunned to react. But... this felt _nice_. Another body pressed against his own, a heat that wasn't his wrapping around him and blocking out the cold that bore into his bones.  When Aizawa pulls away, he finds himself following after him, if only for a moment. 

“Tomura.. I..” The hero looks guilty, cheeks flushed, and eyes almost apologetic.

Shigaraki doesn’t let Aizawa feel his remorse. He use his captured arms, manipulating Aizawa's hold to pull the man back, going after his mouth for another kiss. A proper kiss this time.  There’s a moment where all it is sloppy, but that’s okay. They’re moving together in seconds, falling into the glow of comfort. At least, Shigaraki is, chasing after a security he feels in this act. And it's all because of who he's with. He's safe because he’s with a hero that can cancel his quirk, safe because it’s _Shouta_. And Shouta is there holding him, holding his face and  _ trusting  _ him to not do anything. He can't fathom that trust. 

They break away for air, panting into each other’s mouths. Though it isn't tense, their silence makes Shigaraki feel uncertain. 

“..Thank you," Tomura is the first to speak.

The hero smiles. He presses a kiss to Shigaraki’s forehead, holding his head close in a way one might comfort a frightened child. “You.. you can calm down first. Then we’ll go back..”

Shigaraki buries his face in Aizawa’s scarf, humming to himself, safe and content. “..Can you kiss me again?” 

“I..." Aizawa sighs, "yeah… I can.”

Shigaraki swears he can hear the smile in his voice. 


	4. Licking (Troy x Aurelia)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 3: Licking  
> Ship: (Troy Calypso x Aurelia Hammerlock)  
> Tags:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oral Fixation basically

Plump cushions contort to her form. It creates a comfort contrary to her position, back up against the corner, one leg fallen of.  Sprawled out like a cat on the loveseat, Aurelia basks in the warmth radiating from Troy.  He covers her almost like a blanket, metal hand braced on the arm of the loveseat, flesh one wrapped around her waist. It keeps her close as his mouth explores her neck. He's braced just as precariously, one leg resting on the ground, a knee between hers all the real support he has. 

Metal creaks, the digits pressing hard into wood just barely sturdy enough for it’s strength. Human digits bunch her shirt together, pulling the fabric down. They move together, Troy carrying the brunt of it so Baroness can lazily fall into the feeling. 

Aurelia hums. Her eyes flutter close as Troy worries a mark just under her chin. She can appreciate it’s location later, far back enough that the fur of her coat will hide it, but too forward that the later bruising will peak out if she moves just so. He keeps to areas like that, where he can bite and suck, tendering skin to later trace and kiss. She almost has a taste to her, one of ice and bitter cold. Perhaps it’s the product she uses, perhaps it’s always been there. Troy’s fond of it none the less. Fond of the way it strikes his tongue when he laps over her collar. He leaves a stripe of saliva along her trachea. 

She drapes an arm over her face, purring as the other loosely holds Troy’s coat. Whether she wants to rip it off of him or pull him close by it, she can’t make up her mind. It drapes around her, surrounding her in the pure smell of Troy. That alone could curl around her and make this relationship they had more worth while.

Troy smirks to himself at the tugs on his coat, nipping gently along her shoulder, tasting more, wanting all he could get. He leans back. Pulling her arm away, Troy throws off his coat, unfortunately annoyed when it catches on the jagged edges of his arm. But Aurelia seems more than happy to help as she chuckles at him. Mocking or not the sound fills his stomach with warmth. 

Article discarded, Troy dives back in, kissing down the center of her chest. It doesn’t take him long to slip off the loveseat, settling between the baroness’ legs as she eyes him from under her arm. Aurelia doesn’t shift much for him, only making sure she’s still comfortable as he finds the space needed. His mouth never leaves her body, lavishing her hips and waist, licking over the fabric of her jeans. Tight as they were, they were already troublesome, now more so as he hid delicate flesh from his mouth. 

Troy looks up at Aurelia, flesh hand at her belt, wordlessly asking permission. She laughs, a short sound, then nods. 

The siren makes quick work of her belt, slipping it through the loops to be forgotten with the rest. He works her jeans down her hips, careful with his prosthetic. Troy kisses the top of her hip as it’s exposed, mouthing down it, skipping over the band of her underwear to find the dip just before her thigh. He pays it some extra attention as he shimmies the jeans off her thighs. Her thighs are paid their own share, Troy biting along slightly toned muscles. He kisses the sides of her knees, gentle as he sides her pants all the way off, leaving a parting peck at her ankle before returning to the meat of her thighs. 

He sucks a sloppy mark, sharp teeth quickly bubbling the skin red. Troy’s careful to not break it. He goes to press her waist down, but finds his arm quickly pushed away.

“Ah, darling~  _ Careful _ .”

Troy shivers at her tone, prying his prosthetic away. A bit reluctantly, he draws the limb to his side, sliding the cool metal of his hand up her leg. He watches her eyes, looking for any sign he should pull away. Finding none, he keeps his hand there. Flesh meets her waist this time, nails dragging gently across as he leaves another messy mark. He takes her sigh as approval. 

Lifting her leg over his shoulder, Troy licks up the inner parts of her legs. He hooks his finger in the band of her underwear, watching. Aurelia smiles a Cheshire grin at him, her own fingers weaving throw the younger’s hair. 

“Eat up~” She snorts.

His smile is one to rival hers, “Don’t mind if I do.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was running behind on my Goretober prompts this morning, so I'm afraid this isn't as long as I would have liked. I'll probably continue it at a better time


	5. Tickling (Aizawa x Hizashi)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 4: Tickling  
> Ship: Shouta Aizawa x Hizashi Yamada  
> Warnings: N/A

The bright screen of Hizashi’s laptop was starting to get to his eyes, artificial blues burning red lines into his sclera. But there were still papers to be graded. 

Leaning back into his chair, the blonde yawns, stretching out his limbs. A glance to his left told him Shouta was still working as well, crouched around his own device, typing away at paperwork. The blanket he had decided to wrap around himself has fallen slightly, turning into a puddle of grey at his hips. Hizashi can’t help but snicker to himself. The man hounded him enough about proper care, only to fall back around and disregard that same advice for himself. 

Deciding then that now was the perfect time for a break, Hizashi is careful to slowly creep out of his chair, stalking towards to hunched figure of his friend. Aizawa remains focused on the screen in front of him, leaving himself open in the safety of his home. Hizashi is ready to take advantage, leaning down with arms outstretched, slowing reaching in to-

“Yamada.” Aizawa’s voice is bold, “What are you doing?”

Hizashi freezes, feeling like he's been caught red handed. “N-nothing!” He laughs brightly, taking a step back and hiding his hands when Aizawa turns to stare at him, “I wanted to see what you were working on. And stretch my legs,” He sticks one leg out as that would emphasize his point. 

Aizawa’s eyes are skeptical, but Hizashi is unmoving and smiling bright. The raven sighs, turning back to his work. He is no doubt more on guard now than before, but that is never something to dissuade Hizashi. Quicker this time, Hizashi comes up behind the smaller man, arms out and ready- 

And his hands descend faster than his tired partner’s reflexes can keep up with, attacking his sides and stomach. Aizawa jumps, almost instantly squirming beneath those skilled hands that just happen to know the most ticklish spots on his chest. The laptop is discarded off to the side -And he’s thankful it didn’t fall- almost forgotten as Hizashi gets a better hold on Aizawa. The smaller tries to choke his voice, breathing heavy through his noise and halfheartedly trying to fight back. 

“W-what are y-ah!ou doing!?”

Hizashi lets him catch his breath, keeping his nimble fingers on his partner. He’s chuckling behind him, smiling even wider than before in his playful mood. 

“Distracting you, duh,” his voice is oh-so-cocky and full of mirth. 

“Ya-..” Aizawa sighs, “Hizashi, we have work to do.” 

The blond can practically hear the smile in his tone. And his first name is only proof to the fact that Aizawa isn’t at all opposed to a break. So Hizashi leans down, chin on Aizawa’s shoulder. The raven leans back into his touch, melting among the cousins. He’s still tense. At least, only his chest is. Hizashi’s digits are a looming presence that shows he is not safe from their touch, and he can only wait in suspense for when they’ll strike again. 

“You’ve got a minute or two to waste, don’t you, Sho~?”

His sigh this time is much more playful, almost a chuckle out of his throat. Hizashi tries to extort it. Fingers quickly back to their assault, he’s rewarded with a loud squeak and a continued line of breathy squeals from the other man. Hizashi loves it, diving down to bite at the other’s neck. His teeth are a sharp contrast of pain to the ticklish touch and constant movement, a solid force piercing through Aizawa's flesh that has him letting out a moan. It’s broken and loud and absolutely everything that Hizashi loves. He bites again, this time pairing it with the sudden halt of his hands on Aizawa’s waist. The sound he earns is nothing short of orgasmic, so rich and beautiful and deep. 

“I… We have time,” Aizawa forces out between heavy breaths.

The raven reaches an arm up, finding the back of Hizashi’s head. He pulls, urging the taller man down so that his mouth is close enough. But Aizawa is robbed of the pleasure of kissing his boyfriend when the blonde pulls back abruptly, wandering back over to his own desk. He doesn’t sit down (thank god, Aizawa might have killed him if he left this now) but he looks over his computer, clicking something. And then he turns it off, looking even happier than before. 

“I think we deserve more than two minutes then.”

He takes Aizawa’s laptop too, setting it safely on the coffee table beside them. The Raven just nods, watching wide-eyed as the blonde places himself on his lap, gloved hand roaming over Aizawa’s black shirt, smoothing the material that he’s bunched up. 

Aizawa’s right to not let his guard down. The brief moment of calm turns to near torture again as Hizashi’s hands find his sides this time, and with the blonde's weight pinning him, he has little in ways of retreat. He grabs Hizashi’s shirt, shaking and squirming. He feels out of breath already, head spinning with warmth. But the blonde is ruthless. He can feel tears in the corners of his eyes, face burning and cheeks pink. 

Hizashi traps him further, laying on him completely as he goes for his throat, the other side this time. Instead of biting, he presses gentle kisses and licks lines up to his chin. Gasps and moans intermingle with erratic breathing and choked laughter. He can’t. The pressure is almost too much, crushing his chest and only making his vision blur. But just when his worries start, Hizashi leans back, hands calm and slow now as they run down his hips.

Aizawa falls back into the cushions. He tries desperately to catch his breath, arching up into his lover’s touch. 

“‘Zashi~” The raven whines. His pants feel too tight. His chest aches and quivers with each breath. 

“I know, baby, I know. We’ll get there.” Hizashi’s thumbs draw gentle circles into Aizawa’s skin. 

Hizashi swears the sound that comes out of Shouta is a whimper, and fuck, if that isn’t something to nearly break his willpower. 

“Please-”

Hizashi shushes him, “No. No, you gotta tell me, baby. What do you want?”

“Touch me, ‘Zashi,” His choked off plea is full of desperation, “Touch my body, please.” 

The blonde smiles again, laugh hearty and warm. His gloves are thrown to the side, bare hands sliding under Shouta’s long sleeve. There’s a hiss at first, cold skin meeting pleasantly warm. They go right for his sides, which instantly makes Aizawa tense, but the onslaught never comes, only deft and gentle movements that soothe each shaking breath. Hizashi’s feather light when he roams over beading pink buds, flicking a digit over one of Aizawa’s nipples. The man sucks in a sharp breath, thighs tensing together when Hizashi teases that one further. The other hand finds it’s place under his waistband, nails dragging over the crook of his thigh. 

Aizawa gasps, leg jolting in place. Hizashi presses his hips down, rolling them a little with the movement. It’s electric, sending jolts of pleasure through his nerves that all travel to his groin. Aizawa can’t get enough, rolling his hips up to meet Hizashi’s own. He gets the blonde to sigh, eyes fluttering while his actions falter. But he’s quick to correct himself, pressing his own hips down harder, effectively immobilizing Aizawa’s legs beneath him. 

“You doing good?”

AIzawa swallows, nodding. He knows it’s coming, and it makes it that much more jarring when his bare skin is attacked with bare skin and nails, lower sides and stomach mercilessly targeted. Aizawa has nowhere to retreat, but he’s laughing this time, shredding a tried and true tear as his breath turns back to gasping hiccups that carry his mirthful sounds. 

“I wish you’d told me about this sooner,” Hizashi’s voice is soft as he leans forward, nibbling at this bottom of Shouta’s ear. “Remember two weeks ago? Imagine how I could’ve teased you.”

Aizawa practically sobs his acknowledgement. 

“Could done this for hours if you let me~” 

“‘Zashi~! Fuck...”

Aizawa bites his lower lip, nails biting into Hizashi’s shoulders. The blonde lets up. Though this time he captures the smaller man’s arms, holding them firmly in between their bodies. 

“Later, you think?”

“Fuck yes,” Aizawa doesn’t miss a beat, laughing with a genuine joy to it now, “I’d let you do whatever.”

“And then you’d just do it all to me, wouldn’t you?” Hizashi rolls his hips more forcefully this time. 

“Ngh, for you" Aizawa groans, "‘Z-Zashi, c’mon.” 

“Alright, baby,” Hizashi groans.

Aizawa’s shirt is drawn up over his head, tossed away as his now freed hands go straight for his belt. Hizashi pulls it through the loops, throwing it behind him much the same. Aizawa paws at Hizashi’s belt, fiddling with it as the blonde’s jacket and t-shirt are discarded. It’s a bit of a struggle, Hizashi having to stand to shimmy out of his tight jeans, giving Shouta the chance to wiggle out of his own, but it’s worth the time it takes when skin meets skin, warm and thinly coated in sweat now. 

Hizashi rakes his nails up Aizawa’s sides, leaving angry, red lines. Their biting sting has Aizawa clenching his teeth. Rolling up until his chest meets Hizashi’s own, Aizawa pulls him closer, wanting the contact more than anything right now, wanting _him_.

“Wanna be inside you, baby.”

“Want me to tickle you while I ride you like no other?” Hizashi can’t help his snort. 

He swears Aizawa's eyes are filled with joy, “What did I do to deserve you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda just kept on writing with this one.  
> Def gonna finish it later


	6. Tape (Piers x Chris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 5: Tape  
> Ship: Chris Redfeild x Piers Nivans  
> Warnings: Dirty talk, explicit 

Chris tugs at his wrists, shifting his arms to test the limits of his bonds. It’s much to Piers’s dissatisfaction. The younger of the two grabs hold of where his Captain's arms are connected, stilling the man’s shifting. 

“Tryin’ to get out already, Captain?”

Chris smirks. He’s rather comfortable like this, sinking into the mattress with his arms above his head. Having Piers on top of him only makes it better. He can imagine all of the faces he’s made, all the ways he’s had him ride him to compilation almost just like this. Thinking about it now makes his stomach flutter and his pants tighten. 

“Shouldn’t I be calling you that?” 

Caught off guard momentarily, Piers finds himself blushing. He sputters something too faint under his breath to be heard, but he returns to the demeanor he had before easily enough. Cocky and smug. 

“Back into the swing of things, I see,” Piers laughs. 

And he’s not wrong. The atmosphere is back to where he wants it, making it easier when he straddles the older man, free hand roaming a bare and muscled chest. Chris sighs, eyes half lidded as they watch. Taking that as his ‘go ahead’, Piers brings his other hand into the mix, using them both to trace the outlines of well defined features. He spares nothing, touching all of it like he needs to memorize it’s exact shape, every scar, every imperfection, and every immaculate design. 

It’s easier without the other free to do whatever he wants. Piers found it distracting when Chris’s hands were everywhere. He can’t take it in like he can now. There was always too much happening to notice. 

He traces a scar just above Chris’s hip, “Is this one new?” 

Chris lifts his head, falling back down just as quick, “Nah. It’s old.”

Piers hums. He finds a few scars he’s fond of, following their jagged white lines. Chris shudders, a small breath leaving him. That breath turns into a low groan when Piers drags his nails down his stomach, stopping just past his navel. Pleasure crawls up his spine, all of it’s effects sent straight to his groin. He can feel his cock stirring with interest.

Unintentionally or not, Piers grinds down on Chris, shifting his legs to shimmy back. Chris feels his stomach tense, back arching up to meet the younger man. He keeps his groan bitten back behind clenched teeth. 

Liking that reaction a lot, Piers does it again. With more directed force this time, Piers rolls his hips against Chris’s, worrying his lower lip as a spike of pleasure shoots straight through him. Seeing how Chris’s face contorts into pleasure fills his gut with warmth. Perhaps he takes too long taking that sight in. It’s one of those moments when he wishes his phone was closer so he could snap a picture. Chris would probably kill him for that. 

“I should’ve wrapped you up like a present~” He can imagine it, Chris wrapped with silks that bound his perfect muscles with perfect knots. 

That might’ve been a dream come true. 

“How would you have kept me still, _Captain_?” Chris teases, chuckling out a breathy sound. 

Piers’s smile in nothing but mischievous, “Easy,” he leans forward, mouthing at Chris’s neck, “I would’ve promised to suck you off.”

“That it?” Chris laughs

“No,” Piers’s voice is low, “I would start with your arms. Tie ‘em nice and tight to your chest while we kissed.” He bites at his superior’s jugular, enjoying the groan it wrings out of him. “I’d leave nice bruises on your thighs with my mouth. That would keep you still as I tied your legs,” his thumb bites into the meat of Chris’s thigh, “Maybe if you asked nicely, I’d let you use my mouth while you lay there, helpless.” Piers moans, blood and pleasure pooling together in his cock near painfully. 

The sound seems to be what breaks Chris. 

Without warning, Piers finds himself disorientated, world spinning suddenly as his weight is thrown around. His back meets the mattress roughly, wind almost knocked out of his lungs as he finds his legs spread wide around Chris’s thighs and arms pinned forcefully beside his head. He gasps. Vertigo captures his senses, spinning him further as his brain catches up. There’s a leg pressed up firmly against his groin, a bare chest brushing against his, a mouth assaulting his own so forcefully he swears he can taste iron. 

It’s too much so quickly that he can feel his heart skip more than a few beats, sinking as the pit in his stomach coils tighter. Chris’s knee grinds into him. Piers moans. Chris takes that moment to shove his tongue into Piers’s mouth, tasting the expanse of the warm cavern and muscle presented to him. 

Piers feels his lungs burning like he’s suddenly forgotten how to breath. But Chris doesn’t let up on him. If anything, he only deepens the kiss, rolling his body against the younger’s. Piers pulls uselessly against Chris’s arms, fists balling tight. He can vaguely feel the leftover strands of tape tickling his wrists.

Before his head can feel fuzzy, Chris lets up. They both suck in a sharp breath, Piers panting heavily beneath Chris. His heart is hammering loudly in his ears, skin crawling.

“Asshole..”

Piers wants to wipe that cheeky smile off of Chris’s face, “You should’ve taken your own advice,” he dives back down, nibbling Piers’s chin, “Maybe I would’ve stayed.”

“Fuck you.”

“I think that’s what I’m doing,” below him, Piers shivers, “but first..”

Chris has to admire Piers’s slight recklessness. From not checking to see if his tape bonds were actually sturdy to leaving the roll of the stuff on the nightstand. 

Like the cheeky bastard he is, Chris crawls up Piers’s body, a knee pinning each of the younger man’s biceps. Piers, to his credit, does try to wiggle free. But Chris is stronger, easily caging his upper body to the bed. Not even when Chris reaches for the tape can Piers find an opening, only groaning when the weight on his arms presses almost painfully. Briefly, he thinks about trying to use his legs to throw his Captain off, but before the thought has been fully processed, Chris is settled firmly on him again, smug grin on his face and roll of tape in hand. 

It’s a weak effort, but with the movement he’s left with, Piers tries to push at Chris’s thighs. The blush on his cheeks has only worsened, turning a deeper colour now that he’s truly dwelling on his position. It doesn’t help when Chris snatches up one of his wrists and brings it to the bedpost. The man’s crotch is so close to his face. Piers is tempted to mouth at the thin fabric shielding him from the other to get a reaction, but he tilts his head away instead. The angle lets him watch Chris bind his arm to one of the posts, wrapping it multiple times around before he seems satisfied with his work. His other wrist is given much of the same treatment. 

“Should you really be tying up your captain?” Piers chimes, still trying like he hadn’t lost complete control of the situation. 

Chris roughly jerks his wrist, getting a gasp out of Piers, “Should you have tied up yours?”

Piers lets out an indignant huff, pulling and twisting against his binds. But unlike the ones he had made, these were sturdy. The tape was wrapped around enough times that Piers was sure he’d need a knife or scissors to get the stuff off. 

“I shoulda tied you up better.”

Finally, Chris lets up on Piers’s arms, sliding down his torso. His knees press into Piers’s sides. The younger man tries to get that pressure back on his groin, but Chris won’t go any further, stubbornly staying right where he is. 

“D-dammit.. Chris-”

Chris’s palm clamps down over his mouth. Piers’s eyes go wide. He tries to shake his head away from the older’s hold, but he gets nowhere. Chris acts fast, managing to get a strip of tape by biting it off the roll. He can see Piers’s pupils dilate further, loves the feeling of the smaller squirming under him. It’s better now that he’s not actively trying to get away. 

“I think it’s your turn,” the tape replaces his hand, muffling Piers’s complaints, “don’t you?”


	7. Knifeplay (Leon x Chris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 6: Knife Play  
> Ship: Leon S. Kennedy x Chris Redfield  
> Warnings: Explicit, non-con/dub-con roleplay implied

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To say I like soft non-con/captive scenarios would be an understatement  
> https://twitter.com/azaleashysteria/status/1313735084676005888?s=20  
> Also, I kinda sketched a thing that may or may not be finished within a timely manner

The solid _slam_ of the door is enough to make him jump in the entryway. Leon grumbles his annoyance. He’s been through enough today that a _door_ of all things should not be what gets his heart to jump and thump rapidly within it’s cage. Frustration bleeds into his actions, the way he toes off his shoes aggressive, his keys thrown hard enough towards the kitchen countertop that they slid to a loud halt on the floor rather than marble. 

Leon doesn’t care to grab them. They can sit on the floor for all he cares, another annoyance that will likely bite him again later. There’s a brief flicker of thought that almost makes him turn around. Instead, Leon shuffles to the bathroom. If he ends up stepping on his keys later, he can deal with it later. 

He snaps the faucet back, filling his palms. Cold water splashes his face, slamming immediate awareness back into his fatigue laden body. Leon lets the droplets drip from his face back into the sink, hands either side of the bowl. He could go for a drink. Maybe two. Maybe four. The burn of liquor would be nice. Immediately after the thought, Leon dips down to the stream of water, drinking a few gulps before he snaps the faucet off. The poor thing strains from his abuse. 

In his state, Leon misses the sounds of footsteps approaching.

Strong arms snake around Leon’s waist, a warm mouth on his neck. It’s a sudden greeting that eases all of the stress from his body, giving him the blissful comfort of sinking back into the warm embrace. He doesn’t think twice when a glove-clad hand strokes up his chest, playing with the zipper of his coat. 

He snakes an arm behind him, hand finding the short, chestnut hair he loved so much. Digits play with the short strands, kneading at the owner’s scalp, “Hmm,” the other finds the pulse of his throat, mouthing at it, “Chris..” Leon hums.

A deep, rumbling chuckle sounds behind him, so unmistakably _Chris_ . It sends a shiver down Leon’s spine. “I don’t know that name, _sweetheart_.”

So that was the game he favoured tonight. Leon feels his heart skip with excitement, anticipation bubbling along his skin as all the possible outcomes play through his memory like a film real all at once. 

The hand at his zipper finds his eyes, blinds him with the expanse of his palm, tilting his head back. Throat left bare before the ‘intruder’, “Chris your boyfriend?”

Leon should feel vulnerable right now, should have broken out in a cold sweat the moment any words were exchanged. He can’t bother with fear. No. The assurance from the brick of muscle behind him is too much for that when all he wants is to feel secure. 

So the brunette’s sighs, playful, “He’ll be home soon.” 

Suddenly, there is a press of something cold against his throat. Small goosebumps dot his skin in a dangerous shiver. Leon can feel the flat of the blade against his jugular, unrelenting as it urges his head back. He has no choice but to comply. His head falls back onto Chris’s shoulder before the press has yielded, sliding higher until it stops against his chin. 

“Then I’ll just have to be quick.”

Leon sucks in a sharp breath. 

The tip of the blade scrapes along his stubble, tracing well defined bone. Metal glides down his neck, flat end drawing a line from his pulse to his collar, tip pressing into the bone. Leon’s hand clings to Chris’s hair, the other white-knuckled as it grips the counter. His lungs are filled with short bursts, Leon almost unwilling to let them expand fully as Chris uses the knife to drag his zipper down. Sharp end to his stomach, metal slices through his tee shirt. The fabric tears easily. 

Leon can’t find it within himself to complain. He has plenty, enough to let Chris tear so many more from his chest. 

“He’ll kick your ass when he comes home,” mirth oozes from Leon’s voice. 

For a moment, the knife lingers over his ribs, “Is he stronger than you?”

Metal bites into his flesh, leaving angry red but not yet cutting him. Leon can’t stop his wheezed, “Yes.”

That seems to be the right answer with how Chris laughs, short and breathy. A small step trips Leon forward, pressing his hips harshly into the counter. The loss of balance has the younger man lurching forward, leaning into the wicked touch of the blade as he scrambles to brace himself. His skin parts, a fine line of crimson just under his left pectoral. 

Leon clenches his teeth. Sweats beads under his leather coat, skin hot and contrasted with stinging pain. 

“What would he think of you, panting beneath me?” 

“H-he,” Leon’s breath stutters, “he would love it.” 

“Yeah?” It sounds like a question, though they know he doesn’t need any answer. 

“Y-yeah,” Leon presents him with one anyway. 

Chris, with the sharp side of the blade, tilts Leon’s chin up, supposedly towards the mirror, “You should see yourself,” before Leon can reply, Chris takes his palm from his eyes, grabbing the man’s long hair instead. Leon gasps, eyes suddenly met with the image of himself. 

It’s a sight to behold. Face flush, strands of hair damp with tap water, mouth slack, almost drooling. The dribble of blood catches his gaze, decorating his ribs with it’s sticky lines. And the knife, from the kitchen he has to guess, pressed loosely to his throat. Leon swallows thickly, blue orbs zeroing in on the item that presents genuine danger to him. Chris, ever observant, doesn’t miss the wild and lust filled look in his eyes. 

“Beautiful,” the soldier mumbles, “and all for me.”

“For you-” Leon chokes out. The blade draws against his pelvis, so close to the band on his jeans that he swears Chris wants to dip the metal under and shred the articles. 

“For me,” Chris parrots. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a loose plot for the rest of this so  
> It'll go in the series at the end of the month


	8. Metal (Troy x Aurelia)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 7: Metal  
> Ship: Troy Calypso x Aurelia Hammerlock  
> Warnings: Explicit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta be careful with that metal arm

Aurelia shifts on her knees, settling in Troy’s lap as comfortable as the location allowed. The soft mattress was a blessing, giving her a much needed cushion. It could have been worse. With Troy’s legs folded beneath him, it raised her considerably, though the pillows collected behind her at the head of the bed frame were looking more and more appealing the longer they sat here. 

“You best be careful with that..  _ Thing _ .” Aurelia gestures to Troy’s prosthetic.

“Of course,” The man flashes her one of his side smirks. 

He keeps his arm off to the side, wiggling the digits as she stares. Troy could say he was almost offended that she assumed he couldn’t be careful, but his excitement outweighed that nearly tenfold. 

Hesitantly, the Baroness grabs Troy’s shoulder, tracing where metal met flesh. She keeps her eyes on his chest. Troy's careful, using his flesh hand as he leans Aurelia back. Comfortably against the pillows now, Troy draws his prosthetic forward. Large and gaudy as it was, he’s used to the stranger ways he needs to move. Leaning his right side back, he gives himself the space needed to fit his metal hand between them. He watches her face closely as he paws at her thighs. 

“I’d have figured it would be colder.”

“Hmm?” Troy cocks his head, “If I just put it on, maybe. Not like this though.”

Temperature regulation would have been interesting. Thinking about it now, it would have been fun to leave a memorable print, a lingering cold or a burning heat that just tingles and makes your skin crawl and just-

“It could be softer.”

Troy snickers, watching the women roll her eyes at him as he traces gentle patterns on her hip. “Well, it’s metal,” he jokes. Aurelia stares blankly until Troy laughs at himself to lighten the mood. 

She looks back at his chest, watching the slight movements from the exposed mechanisms. It’s an easy way to become distracted, mesmerized by what moved like muscle and strained against itself when the movement seemed so little. He’s almost featherlight as he trails up her legs, stopping at the crook where leg meets pelvis, checking for confirmation. Aurelia doesn’t shy away from his touch, so he moves gently, groping her sex. Aurelia shivers, but she doesn’t jerk away. So Troy grows bolder, tracing dampened lips. It’s a shame he can’t feel it. But he’s excited by her, watching the Baroness roll her hips, seeing her usually tense features soften. It sparks heat in his gut. 

He lets her control it, keeping his palm still for her until she becomes more bold herself. She grinds down onto the smooth metal, nails biting hard into his shoulder. Troy tries to move with it, finding a spot that gets her to gasp. 

“Good?”

Aurelia nods, “Do that again.”

And Troy does. It’s easy enough, getting his palm to do the same roll. She gasps again, pressing down harder. His flesh thumb smooths over her side, rubbing soft circles over her skin. Aurelia grinds down again, stomach tightening as her back arches. Something clicks in his head. 

The corners of Troy’s lips curl. Like he usually would with his flesh hand, he brings his thumb to where his palm had been, circling her clit. The reaction is better this time as he feels her whole body tremble, moaning as she seeks more. The softer padding at the tips of his digits feel closer to skin, though colder than but just rough enough to still be pleasurable. The discomfort he would feel in his wrist is a blissful absence, but he still can’t keep his hand like this. 

Troy reaches absently behind him for his pants, roaming around for his pocket. Tricky as it was, he still manages for the lube. Somehow he pops the cap, but he pauses. 

“Uh,” flushing with youthful inexperience, “do you want me to use my normal hand?” Troy gestures with it. 

It’s Aurelia’s turn to smirk, “Which one do you prefer?”

“Oh.” The flush darkens, “Uhm, well the metal feels pretty nice~ B-but that’s an acquired kinda thi-”

“Troy,” He pauses, “You’re rambling again.”

He falters. 

So Aurelia grabs his chin with a gentle hand. The other grabs his metal wrist, bringing the flat of his palm back down against her sex. “Let’s try something new then, God-King.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is hard for me to see a situation where this man could genuinely top, I am sorry


	9. Lingerie (Rhys x Katagawa)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 8: Lingerie  
> Ship: Rhys Strongfork x Katagawa Jr.  
> Warning(s):

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.dhgate.com/product/sissy-babydoll-exotic-apparel-see-through/510934672.html  
> The lingerie in question

Rhys’s eyes find the chair, slightly pulled out and almost luring. 

Without a glance behind him, the CEO steps around his desk, falling comfortably back into his office chair. It’s only when he settles that he looks back at the other man’s crumpled form. His gaze is one of ire, and he knows because Katagawa has shrunken in on himself again, staring dumbly back with those stupid, pretty wide eyes. Rhys likens him to a child who’s just been scolded. 

The chair rolls, kicked back by Rhys’s foot, leaving an apt amount of space between it and the desk. Katagawa watches with what Rhys assumes is confusion. The man hasn’t advanced. Rhys can’t tell if it’s a blessing in disguise, telling him that ‘ _no, you should not do this’_ , or if it’s another thing that annoys him about the man. It works up an air of silence that clings tightly to the walls, thrown tight to the corners when Rhys sighs. 

Gesturing like it was self explanatory, Rhys snaps, “Get on the desk.”

That silence snaps back for all of the twelve achingly long seconds it takes for Katagawa’s brain to turn back on. Katagawa’s shocked. 

“Oh? Rhys, what’s this~?” his usual tone wavers, “Are you really agreeing to this?”

Rhys cannot possibly glare harder at the stupid, big grin Katagawa sports, “Just get on the desk before I change my mind.”

Katagawa doesn’t waste his chance. Hastily, he scrambles up to his feet, walking with a small jump to his step that carries him around the desk. He’s confident as he leans back, knuckles turning a faint shade of white as he grips the edges like it was the only real thing in this room. All night he’d been thinking about this, daydreaming about how he was going to get Rhys in more ways than one. Now that he’s here, he doesn’t know what to do. 

Irritable turns to bored, Rhys’s eyes taking on a tired look. Katagawa is sure the CEO expects him to do something. He needs to change that look. Rhys is starting to look disinterested. Before Katagawa can make a move, he’s beaten to it. 

Rhys pinches the bridge of his nose, “Take your,” gestures, “suit off.”

Katagawa swallows. A wave of youthful self-conscious washes over him, claiming his hand visibly as he fumbles with his tie. _Slow and methodical,_ he thinks. _Maybe Rhys wants the tease of it,_ he tries to convince himself. _Waste his time. Waste yours_. Tie left loose around his throat, Katagawa goes for the buttons on his suit jacket. It felt a whole lot easier this morning when he had practiced his speech. But he gets it done, neatly taking the expensive item from his arms only to let it fall around him on the desk. 

His eyes have long since fallen to his hands, focusing on the shine from his leather gloves reflecting the overhead lights as he takes them off. Rhys’s eyes bore through him as he reaches for his belt, but he refuses to meet the older man’s gaze. 

Growing impatient and suspiciously curious, Rhys crowds Katagawa, batting his arms away only to replace them with his. Katagawa bites his lip on a whimper. Legs pushed between Katagawa’s, Rhys lifts him fully up onto the desk, leaving the man open and more vulnerable than he’d thought he’d feel. Wasting no time at all, Rhys starts of Katagawa’s dress shirt, popping the first button before Kat seems to notice.

Grabbing Rhys’s wrist, Katagawa starts, “Rhys, wait-”

“What?” Ire is back in his voice, “You come here with the intention of getting laid and then you wanna back out the moment I’m interested?”

“That’s not-” 

Rhys can see it in his face, the many different stages Kat goes through trying to find the words he wants, only to find nothing. At the end of it, Katagawa does not elaborate. But he lets go of Rhys. So the CEO continues. 

Top three buttons free, a collar of red is now bared. Rhys finds himself entranced by the colour, vibrant like the new branding of his company, and transparent around a pattern that reveals itself to be flowers. Katagawa’s blush somehow manages to rival the mesh, warming his face embarrassingly as he watches his obsession rid him of his shirt. 

“Was this for me?” Rhys traces the designs, teasing when is wrapped around a nipple. 

Katagawa tries to add some bite back to his voice, “No.” But he’s left with this almost breathless sound that fails to mask his lie. 

“Shame,” his hand travels down, smoothing over Kat’s stomach, “Looks good on you.”

With a sudden interest, Rhys takes his time getting Katagawa’s arms out of his sleeves, hands lingering pleasantly along his clothes but visible flesh. Kat isn’t sure what he should think. His poor attempt at a strip tease has been turned back on him in a way only his dreams could have thought up. But this is very much real. The hands tracing his abdomen are real, real still as they squeeze his waist and play with the mesh lingerie. It all feels so pleasant that when Rhys takes the elastic edge and lets it snap against his skin, Katagawa squeaks with surprise. 

He has no time to complain, However, as Rhys has taken interest in his pants, obscuring fabric that clearly goes so much further. 

Katagawa grabs his wrist again, blush so much worse as he scrambles once again for words that he simply cannot find. 

With amusement more than anything this time, Rhys chimes, “What is it?”

And finally something comes to Katagawa’s head, a light that suddenly burns bright where before it had only been able to flicker in the darkness. So he quickly stutters out, “Y-you seem a bit.. O-over dressed, don’t you think?” He’s not so sure his embarrassed stalling will work. 

Rhys lets out a single, gruff, “Fine.” 

It seems Katagawa has longer still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amount of red lingerie I looked through  
> Good god, I kinda feel bad. Men's lingerie seems so boring compared to women's


	10. Cuffs (Jake x Piers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 9: Cuffs  
> Ship: Jake Muller x Piers Nivans  
> Warnings: Explicit, light bondage

“You ever calm down?” 

Piers had half a mind to hit him with the butt of his rifle. A glare is a fitting substitute. 

“Hey,” Jake puts his arms up in mock surrender, “I’m just asking. Don’t gotta be all professional all the time, seriously.”

“Last time I looked, this was my job,” Piers drawls. He misses Jake’s tone.

“Sure, sure. But you’re not on the clock yet~”

The merc had taken a step closer, hand shoved in his pocket rather than crossed over his chest. Piers’ eyes flicked down for all of two seconds.

It starts as it always does. Jake is quick and sudden, coming down upon him as quick as any B.O.W. could have managed, trapping him close in a bruising kiss that was more teeth and tongue. 

Jake bites at his lips, hand grabbing the base of his skull to keep him close. Piers bites back. The taste of iron is almost sweet on his tongue, hitting the back of his throat in a way that was all too familiar. He tries to twine his arms around Jake’s neck, but the mercenary catches his arm. But Piers still takes what he can get, wrapping his free arm around until his hand catches in the Redhead’s shirt. 

The merc shoves him back. It’s a moment they need, both sucking in gulps of valuable oxygen. But it’s short. 

Jake backs him against the wall, taking both his arms now. Piers lets him. In the moment, he wouldn’t oppose a change, a chance to let power be snatched away. And if Jake wants to do that, by all means, it’s not like Piers was thinking with the right head. 

Pleasure shoots up his spine, all of his attention taken suddenly to the leg Jake shoves between his legs. Piers moans into the merc’s mouth. He feels the man’s tongue against his own exploring the warm cavern as his back finally connects with the wall. The soft  _ thump  _ from the actions was almost enough to cover the distinct  _ click, click, click  _ Piers heard. Almost. Unable to push at Jake’s chest thanks to the man’s hold, Piers turns his head towards the wall instead. 

Brows knit together in confusion, Piers trying to get a good look. Jake goes for his neck instead. The mercenary sucks a mark into his neck, under his chin and by his ear. Piers would have snapped at the man if it didn’t feel so good. The sensitive skin burns with the sudden mark of teeth, forcing a half-groan half-whine from his throat. 

The second set of clicks is much louder, and he feels it more with how Jake has to pull his arms together. 

“J-Jake-” Piers’s arms are yanked above his head, pinned to the wall by Jake’s hand, “What the hell?”

“Calm down, puppy,” Jake says with an audible smirk, “you trust me, right?” He nips at Piers’s pulse.

“Ngh, I,” Piers sucks in a breath, “I wouldn’t call it trust.”

The soldier’s head hits the wall, eyes locked on the shine of metal and the chain link that now bound his arms together, hidden under Jake’s palm. With his neck bared, Jake took it as further invitation to mouth at the man’s jugular, grazing his teeth over the shaper of his trachea until that stupid scarf got in the way. 

“But you’ll give up control when we’re together?” As if to emphasize this, Jake pulls Piers’ arms up till they're taught. 

“I’d call that more of a ‘spur of the moment’ thing.” Piers grits his teeth, stomach spinning and twirling with anxious excitement. 

The taller man shared a devilish look, one that sent a shiver through Piers, “Then let’s do something ‘spur of the moment’.”

“I can’t believe you.”

Jake winds the chain tight, gloved hand finding one of Pier’s. And it’s almost intimate, like a mockery of holding hands that Piers wouldn’t think too much about, not when Jake’s mouth is back on his, when his knee has pressed higher. The pressure on his crotch is a spark of pleasure he missed. Piers melts into it all, willing his arms to relax as he kisses back, rolling his body against Jake’s. He’s rewarded with Jake’s hand sliding up his shirt, groping at his hips and stomach. 

The merc’s hand doesn’t linger long, heading straight for what they both wanted. His belt’s discarded, button and zipper fumbled with so Jake can slip past the fabric and go straight for his dick. Piers rolls his body into the Merc’s hand, all of his little pleasured sounds swallowed by Jake’s mouth. At some point with his groping, Jake finds one hand isn’t enough, so he let’s go of Piers, ridding the man of his pants and briefs. Piers, personally, doesn’t think he’s fast enough to get his own down. 

But with nowhere to complain, he doesn’t bother. 

Back in quickly enough, Jake wraps a hand around both of them, slicking his palm with precum. And the pull is so good. 

Piers curses into Jakes mouth, taking his arms and wrapping them around Jake. The chain snaps audibly, digging into the back of Jake’s neck and Piers takes advantage of his bonds, pulling the taller man in. They break with a gasp, Jake now the one looking at a cheeky smirk with a shiver. 

“Ya know, I think I like ‘em~”


	11. Overstimulation (Jake x Piers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 10: Overstimulation  
> Ship: Jake Muller x Piers Nivans  
> Warnings: explicit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keeping it with the same ship since I missed yesterday. My cat’s vet stuff took a lot longer than I thought it would.

Piers’s body aches. His thighs tremble violently, spread wide around Jake’s own. His arms far no better, tense like the muscles in his abdomen. It’s a struggle to keep himself up. Jake is doing much better than he was, reclined on the mattress, lounging almost like a cat. Piers would be laying there with him if Jake’s hands weren’t still on his hips, keeping him firmly in his lap, on his cock. The mercenary's grip is tight enough to bruise, Piers can already feel it. He hasn’t caught his breath just yet, still panting and sucking in every desperate bout he can get. His nerves are tingling, sparking with every small spasm. 

Piers’s first orgasm had been a lot. Jake had worked him up, let him squirming before they’d even made it to the bed. This. This was a new hell where Piers couldn’t tell if he wanted to run away or sink into the pleasure. He couldn’t run away, the redhead wouldn’t let him. But every sink into pleasure was another spike to his sensitive body that made him gasp and twitch. 

They’ve sat like this for so long that Jake didn’t need to help any more. 

“J-Jake, c’mon. Ple-ease!”

Jake, once again, rolls his hips. The merc’s cock presses right against Piers’s prostate, making him gasp and jump. He has to catch himself, clenching around the younger man in a way that has them both moaning. His whole chest spasms with the sudden movement, all the air he’s caught yanked out of him too quickly. The brunette’s dick twitches, an angry pink, dripping and just begging to be touched. 

“You’re doing good, puppy,” Jake snickers, groaning out this guttural sound when Piers has to shift. 

“‘S too much,” Piers pants. 

“Hold on for me,” the merc cants his hips, another thrust that jolts the soldiers entire body, “Close?”

Piers nods blindly, biting through his lower lip as his whole body is wracked with spasms of pained pleasure. He could feel it building shortly after the first, the ball tightening and tightening through his chest. Fuck, he could feel it all, every clench, every pulse, every nerve that lit up when Jake rolled his stupidly pretty hips. He couldn’t hold on to it. He came with little more than an inhale and a wordless shout, eyes rolling into his skull. Piers could feel Jake too, spurred on by how his walls had become a vice grip around his dick. 

The cum that fills him makes him wince, the fluid an added pressure that his body screams is too much. And Jake lets him run away this time, guiding him down as gently as one can when helping a fully grown man fall. 

Lips brush against his neck, feather light and Jake soothes his sides. 

“Fuck,” Piers can’t help but curse, body yelling at him, limbs weakening on their own accord, demanding rest. 

“Told you I’d make you cum twice.”

Jake is lucky Piers’s arm is too numb to slap him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda wish this was longer, but It's midnight and I don't really have time :/


	12. Hair Pulling (Leon x Chris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 11: Hair pulling  
> Ship: Leon S. Kennedy x Chris Redfield  
> Warnings: Explicit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chris is gonna get a lotta love xD

Leon pants, fists tangled in the comforter beneath him. Chris presses him further into the mattress, the hand on his shoulder unyielding with the weight it uses to keep the his face against the blankets. Another thrust has him gasping, choking on his own breath and fabric alike. Chris knows he’s found gold. 

The BSAA soldier adjusts himself, getting a better angle for what he plans to do again. Releasing Leon’s shoulder, his hand finds the headboard so he doesn’t ram Leon into it. The hand on the agent’s hip shifts up, slimy with sweat and no where near stable on bare skin. And then Chris thrusts again, hitting that sweet bundle of nerves that has Leon downright mewling beneath him. 

“Fu-ah! Chris,” 

Leon is back to breathless panting, back arching up as his arms move him away from the mattress in this beautiful way that shows off the curve of his back perfectly, glistening with sweat and practically pornographic. It’s a miracle Chris doesn’t come right then.

“C-Chris, please! Please, please, please..” his beg turns into this mindless mantra that ends with a moan. Leon buries his chin near his chest, mouth open on a sound that never comes out. His whole body moves against Chris  as he hides himself unintentionally, lost in pleasure.

That won’t do. It should be criminal to rob him of such a sight. 

The headboard creaks, white-knuckled digits unclenching from their perch to find a new one at the base of Leon’s skull. Calloused fingers wind their way through auburn strands, bunching together at the roots as he yanks them back. Leon grunts, arms pushing forward to accommodate the sudden arch Chris has forced his body back into. He’s lining up for the money shot again, pressing his chest right up against Leon’s back. He's so close his breath puffs out visibly on Leon's nape, warmth radiating from his body.

“Say my name again, baby,” he nibbles at Leon’s ear.

“Chri-is,” the agent's hands knead at the comforter. His scalp lights up with pain, sinking down to his neck with the strain of the angle it holds.

Chris jerks Leon's  head to the side, taking him in a sudden and bruising kiss. And then he shoots. 

Leon chokes out another curse, swallowed whole by Chris’s mouth and tongue, the muscle invading and comforting all the same. Chris can’t muffle all the delicious cries that rips itself from Leon when he leans back, taking the smaller man with him as he rests on his legs. Taken along for the ride, Leon slides further down Chris’s cock, muscle clenching down around the phallus in a quick spasm. 

The mattress becomes too far forward for his hands to reach, digits finding the meat of Chris’s thighs to hold onto. Chris wraps an arm around Leon’s waist, hooking onto his hip to keep him from falling. He feels a new strain in his ankles that will come back to haunt him tomorrow, but for now, the tendons can deal with the extra strain of his weight just like his knees have to. 

Leon sets himself up, wiggling on his knees in his twisted position until he has enough leverage to raise himself almost completely off Chris’s dick. But his favourite part about this was falling. He doesn’t need to put any effort into it for Chris to hit his prostate head on, and it’s easy to do it all over again. Chris rolls his hips up to meet every drop, moving in a perfect rhythm they’ve found through their many times together. Pleasure coils together in their guts, wrapping around their nerves with every slap of skin in a heat that traps them all over again.

The agent can’t think straight with Chris’s dick so spot on and the soldier's hand still in his hair, keeping his neck craned so he doesn’t have to stop kissing him. It’s devolved from a messy makeout to mouthing at each other and swallowing their cries, but the sounds have gone from muffled to croaked, mixing with slick. Skin rubs against skin, Leon’s lips red and glistening with spit. Chris suddenly jerks him down on his cock, arm too tight and trapping him in place. Leon chokes out a gasp, muscle walls clamping down tight as Chris’s mouth finds his neck, face buried there to mute his cry as he cums. Leon is sent over by the spill inside of him, stomach twitching with his release.

Chris kneads at his scalp, kissing down Leon's shoulder as the man shivers with aftershocks. He holds them like that for a while, until Leon's body has stilled some and the man has air in his lungs. He's gentler when he guides them down onto the mattress together, cuddling up behind Leon as fatigue finally settles in his body. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you believe I panic wrote almost two whole prompts?  
> But anyway, I'm eyeing a future prompt for a possible continuation of this?? Maybe.


	13. Drugging (Katagawa x Troy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 12: Drugging  
> Ship: Katagawa Jr. x Troy Calypso  
> Warnings: I mean, non-consensual drug use

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine there being this unspoken rule about Troy’s markings (since they are a different colour and all) that you shouldn’t mention it. Like it would be insulting, like someone trying to say he isn’t a ‘real siren’ or something.
> 
> Also, V1 and V2 because I don't know which one I like better, so you get both

The air itself felt stale and riddled with impurity. The small act of breathing near the ship had Tyreen making this mock-gagging sound as she snickered to Troy. Troy, himself, was indifferent; Though the, Twin God made no efforts to tone down or quiet himself when joking about the ship's interesting shape. 

A’ business’ meeting on The Zanara. What a fantastic idea.

Katagawa Jr. had at least kept things professional. Despite what the ship was for, he _had_ made an effort to properly address his new relationship with their ‘company’. Tyreen had helped to keep things short and sweet as well. As good as the new guns were, she didn’t want to stick around. Leave it to Troy to swoop in, more than happy to cover for her; Or, in her words, ‘ _Kissing the ass of some bratty CEO wannabe’_.

Said CEO wannabe seemed overly ecstatic to have Troy’s attention all to himself. 

Troy has to admit, seeing Katagawa alone had been a tempting idea when he thought of it; acting it out now, he couldn’t say the same. 

It was business at first, finishing up what the smaller Calypso hadn’t, and then it had delved into more demanding questions. Katagawa was a curious one, eager to pry for blackmail or whatever he might find. Troy was good at evading those questions, better at hiding his disgust when the man outright insults the idea of family by talking about his own. 

“Oh, come on," Katagawa's voice drips into a whine, "What’s a few hundred here and there?” 

“I’m surprised no one’s ever, oh, I don’t know,” Troy makes a choking motion with his hand towards his throat, all dramatic and with his tongue out, “Ya know?”

Katagawa laughs this loud, obnoxious snorting sound and leans forward, elbows on his knees, “Because we’re _thorough_. You see, my old man would kill his successor if he thought they would betray him. Even if that successor happened to be his first born.” The last point is said with a dark smile. 

The satisfaction oozing from him makes Troy Grimace, “I’m sure he’s a fantastic person to be around,” he snorts. 

Kat cackles at that, “Oh, you’d love him,” for once, there’s actual sarcasm in his tone. 

Reaching for his glass, Troy frowns. He’s downed the whole thing already, a nice tasting wine he’s sure Kat didn’t waste a cent on. It could have been stronger, something to make this waste of time worth while.

Before Troy can get up, Katagawa’s on his feet. 

“Let me. I’m almost out myself.”

V1:

Troy doesn’t miss the way Kat’s eyes zero in on his empty glass before they find him, “Not all the way, if ya don’t mind. Ty wouldn’t be too thrilled if I came back stumbling all over the place.” 

Katagawa nods, snatching up both glasses before skittering around the couches to the bar. There’s a cheekiness to the bounce in his step, overconfidence and familiarity as he fills the cups with expensive wine, both halfway this time. Troy doesn’t make it too obvious he’s watching, focusing more on the lights as they bleed from purple to green to blue. He rubs at his temples. 

“Headache?” Kat chimes, “I can turn them off,” then mumbles, “though the fluorescent is incredibly boring.”

“It’s fine." Troy waves a hand, "I like the LEDs.” 

“I thought you would,” there’s that smirk again, paired fittingly with how he lingers at the bar, “But you’d prefer red, wouldn’t you?”

“You readin’ my head over there, Maliwan?” Troy snickers. 

“Haha, maybe I am.” 

The young head of Mergers and Acquisitions saunters back over, gently setting both glasses down, “How about I make those lights red?” 

Troy nods, smiling back in his own cheeky way. As soon as Katagawa’s back is turned, Troy swaps their drinks. The siren would hate to call himself paranoid, but trusting the young Head, when he’s openly complained and boasted about his siblings and their death, respectively, was like wrapping the noose around his neck. And in the Zanara of all places. 

Above, the changing lights bleed one last time, turning a solid but violent red. A perfect crimson to match the decals and glowsticks Troy dons. It makes the room feel smaller than it was before, less light for the corners, more for the center of couches and loveseats. 

As Katagawa sits back down, Troy waits for him to pick up his glass, looking on conversationally as if inviting Kat to start talking again. But as one second turns to three, Troy leans in for his own glass, humming. He took Kat's bait. 

“Why do you like red? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Kat took his bait. _Well, one of them_ , Troy’s head chimes rudely. “Don’t know. I just,” he makes a face, “ _do_.”

“Have you ever thought it might have something to do with your Siren markings?” Kat takes his own cup, holding it close to his chest as he watches Troy, clearly waiting.

“Hmm?” The siren dumbly looks at his arm, “Oh! Ha! No, I don’t. I mean it’s hella cool and all that they’re red, but I don’t think that influenced my whole shtik.” 

“It’s fitting. Couldn’t imagine them being blue…”

Troy can hear the question Kat wants to ask, can practically taste it on his own tongue it’s that obvious. His brows furrow, nearly narrowing until he decides it’s not worth it so he takes a drink instead. The liquid burns as it did before, a pleasant warmth in his throat, no funny taste, no lingering smell. Nothing. 

Satisfied, Katagawa takes a sip of his own, only looking at the cup briefly before shaking his head, “Sorry, friend,” condescending as always, “that came out wrong. Though, blue would still look very pretty.”

“Be pretty fucking weird.”

Katagawa chuckles, “I suppose I have to agree. Blue doesn’t feel like your colour.”

Pushing the Siren talk aside, Katagawa manages to find something to ramble about. Some of the guns he’s handed over made their way into it, him boasting quite proudly about how their elements can change and how some of their magazines have been expanded upon. More ammo is always better, Troy has to agree, since he can’t help but add how ‘COV’ guns never have to reload. Katagawa doesn’t care. Or he does and he would rather boast about how good Maliwan products are because he practically runs over Troy’s words. 

Before he’s even done with his speech, he’s finished his glass. The cup’s been abandoned on the table in favour of freeing up Katagawa’s hands. He likes to speak with them, clearly, since he hasn’t stopped using them to exaggerate his performance. 

Troy is barely paying attention. He’s suspiciously watching the man, waiting for something that isn’t happening like he thought it would. The siren has almost managed to chastise himself for fretting over something like his drink when Katagawa starts to slur. The man couldn’t have had a full glass of wine, and unless he drank before and it’s just now hit him, Troy is certain he was right. 

“Hey, Maliwan, feelin’ alright? Lookin’ a little sick over there.”

Katagawa shakes his head, “I’m fine. Just..” he gropes for the word, “tipsy, is all.” That’s a lie and they both know it. Confusion has nowhere to go but on his face, hidden under a mask that has all but broken thanks to Troy’s suspicions. Looking at his glass morphs his face it into this dumb expression, like the empty cup could tell him anything. 

“Sure you’re just _‘tipsy’_?” Troy makes air quotes with his hands. 

“You-” Katagawa’s eyes widen, realization crashing down around him so suddenly he sputters. But his world is too fuzzy for him to accuse, black climbing into his vision in webs that claim his senses and curtain them with cotton. Far too soon, unconscious overtakes him.

Troy, all things considered, is at least nice enough to take him to a more private room. He is not nice enough to sit still and wait for the man to wake up, however. 

He scours all he can to satiate his curious mind, rummaging until he’s grown bored of finding condoms, lube, and other various paraphernalia that he’d expect, but nothing worth his time. Sure the gear gave him some ideas, but he wanted something to hold over Katagawa’s head. Troy’s half tempted to try and find something somewhere else on the ship when Kat finally stirs. It’s a small twitch, a half flutter from his eyes as they try to blink open. 

Whatever katagawa used must have been decently weak. Whether it should have or not, that comforts Troy. 

Troy stomps back over to the bed, crossing flesh over metal. He’s glaring when Katagawa eyes open, looming over him with a no doubt angry expression. The young Head doesn’t even look phased. 

“You’re not that bright, Maliwan.” What was he thinking? Trying to drug a God?

“And you’re stupid enough to not tie me up~” Though forced to a drawl, Katagawa somehow still has that stupid, confident tone.

Oh. He sees the game now. 

Troy flexes his prosthetic, enjoying how Katagawa’s eyes stick to it lick glue, “I don’t need to.”

V2:

Troy doesn’t miss the way Kat’s eyes zero in him, “Not all the way, if ya don’t mind. Ty wouldn’t be too thrilled if I came back stumbling all over the place.” 

Katagawa nods, snatching up both glasses before skittering around the couches to the bar. There’s a cheekiness to the bounce in his step, overconfidence and familiarity as he fills the cups with expensive wine, both halfway this time. Troy doesn’t find too much interest in watching Kat, focusing more on the lights as they bleed from purple to green to blue. He rubs at his temples. 

“Headache?” Kat chimes, “I can turn them off,” then mumbles, “though the fluorescent is incredibly boring.”

“It’s fine." Troy hums, "I like the LEDs.” 

“I thought you would,” there’s that smirk again, paired fittingly with how he lingers at the bar, “But you’d prefer red, wouldn’t you?”

“You readin’ my head over there, Maliwan?” Troy snickers. 

“Haha, maybe I am.” 

The young head of Mergers and Acquisitions saunters back over, gently setting both glasses down, “How about I make those lights red?” 

Troy nods, smiling back with his own flirtatious face. Before Kat’s come back, Troy’s collected his drink, swirling it around in the large glass. Above, the changing lights bleed one last time, turning a solid but violent red. A perfect crimson to match the decals and and glowsticks Troy dons. It lights the room with an air of pleasure almost, as if it were blood stains left there by Troy, fresh and vibrant. He could almost smell it.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why do you like red?” There’s genuine inquisition in there as Katagawa seats himself and lazily grabs his own drink. 

“Dunno. Blood?” Troy shrugs, “It’s bold, _violent_.”

“What about your Siren markings?" Katagawa is quick, "They’re red. Have you ever thought," a garish gesture with his hands, "hm, I don't know, that they might have had any influence?”

Troy snorts, "Ha! No, I don’t. I mean it’s hella cool and all that they _are_ red, but I don’t think that influenced my whole shtik.” 

"Shouldn't they be blue?"

Troy can hear the real question Kat wants to ask, can practically taste it on his own tongue it’s that obvious. His brows furrow, nearly narrowing until he decides it’s not worth it. Instead of a reply, Troy takes a heavy gulp of wine, cringing at it's sweeter taste. He thinks his silence is a worthy substitute. Katagawa seems to understand. 

"Sorry _Friend_ , that was.. ruder than I thought it would be," Kat cracks an apologetic smile,” "Still, blue would be.. _pretty_."

"Pretty fucking weird," Troy mutters into his glass.

"Hehe, yeah," Katagwa chuckles, nervously, "I suppose I have to agree. Blue isn't your colour." At that, he raises his glass in a mock cheers gesture.

"No," Troy agrees, "it's not." 

He can't see anything wrong with that annoyingly smug face Katagawa has. It seems to rest that way, like how his features rest angry and sharp. But his cat-like grin felt wider, with a hint of teeth. 

Pushing the Siren talk aside, Katagawa manages to find something to ramble about. Some of the guns he’s handed over made their way into it, him boasting quite proudly about how their elements can change and how some of their magazines have been expanded upon. More ammo is always better, Troy has to agree, since he can’t help but add how ‘COV’ guns never have to reload. Katagawa doesn’t care. Or he does and he would rather boast about how good Maliwan products are because he practically runs over Troy’s words. 

It feels like it's back to business. 

Before he’s even done with his speech, Katagawa finishes his glass. The cup is abandoned on the table in favour of freeing up his hands. He likes to speak with them, clearly, since he hasn’t stopped using them to exaggerate his performance. It leaves something to watch, though motions once sharp and understandable turn fuzzy and blurred together in a messy sequence. 

Paying attention to what Katagawa has to say is hard. The words seem to float by, unable to stick. Troy catches a few things, yes, enough to warrant small replies to pretend he's still invested, but that only gets him so far. Katagawa has to have noticed, but he just keeps talking, rambling in this incessant way that makes it harder to keep up. 

"Don't fall asleep on me, _Calypso_."

"'M not fallin' asleep," Troy forces the grumbled reply. 

"That's not what it looks like from here."

Katagawa has this look in his eyes. Prying excitement. He's far too jovial to be concerned, and Troy finds that disgusting warmth back in his voice. He never liked it, didn't know what it meant. 

"If you need to sleep, I have a few rooms to pick from~"

Troy wants that smirk to go away.

He'd sleep on the couch if he had to. The luxury of a bed was needless, but Katagawa is insistent, already passed the table and going for his shoulder. Troy's body acts before he can will it to do other wise, shambling on autopilot to take him somewhere Katagawa leads.

He can't recall when the glass left his hand or when the hall was no longer red, back to cream from florescent bulbs. Troy couldn't have drank enough for this. A cup and a half? He's chugged that no problems, and with stronger stuff. The wine could not have been worse than what he concocted for his own drinks. 

The Siren's world changes again, condensing to the room he's stubbled to. Katagawa pushes him towards the bed, and his body is leaning that way already.

His world is too fuzzy for him to accuse Katagawa of anything, black climbing into his vision in webs that claim his senses and curtain them with cotton. Whatever remaining shed of alertness within him is screaming, pounding against the walls of his skull, but it's too late to do anything. 

Far too soon, a world of black overtakes him.

To know how much time had passed would require a window. There are none where he is, only artificial light that bled into the room in bright waves of pain that hits his eyes. His head flinches, involuntary. Troy needs to open them, but the warmth and comfortable surface behind him are an alluring thing. Tyreen wouldn't be mad if he slept in. They had all the time in the world.

Something is screaming at him, though, pleading for him to get up. It’s an anxiety that pulls him quicker out of rest that any alarm could have. 

With a sudden panic, Troy jumps. His body is stopped by something, he’s sure of it, because his jerk couldn’t take him to the seated position it often did. A strain licks at his arms, painfully crafting through his nerves a pathway that ached. His arms were bound above his head, wrapped with what felt like decent rope. Troy’s prosthetic was pulled up too, but he couldn’t feel where it was bound. 

The siren wants to snicker. Rule one, don’t use something so basic on a metal arm that could crush someone’s skull. 

“Ah! You’re awake!” Fucking Katagawa, “That’s good. I thought I was gonna start without you,” he chuckles this giddy sound, close to manic. 

From deep in his chest, Troy rumbles out a growl, “Start what?” Sleep is still present in his voice, but anger is stronger. 

Pale eyes meet the smaller man, knelt on the bed and straddling Troy, fiddling with his hands impatiently. He’s absent of his suit jacket and tie, gloves and belt somewhere else. Troy narrows his eyes, balling his metal fist. 

“Oh, Troy. Don’t look so upset. This is fun~” 

Troy cackles, genuinely, choking on air through his forceful laugh, “You’ve got balls, Maliwan. Tying up a God? Fucking hilarious!” 

It is Katagawa’s turn to be confused. He arches a brow, looking over Troy like there would be a sign pointing to something he missed. Preferably blaring orange or blue.

Troy catches his breath, something mischievous sparking in blue eyes, “But you’re still not that bright.” 

The rope snaps in two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ship is a dirty pleasure  
> And just pure crack  
> But since writing assholes comes easy


	14. Hostage (Piers x ??)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 13: Hostage (Roleplay??)  
> Ship: Piers Nivans x Chris Redfield  
> Warnings: just some good explicit stuff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was gonna leave it open ended for 'is it non-con, is it roleplay?' ya know? But Chris kinda just poked in and said fuck that so here we are.

It’s unnerving to have any one of his senses taken away. Sight was at the top of his list. What was a sniper without their eyes?  Piers can’t rip the fabric blindfold off, much to his annoyance. 

Sitting back in the metal chair, he snears. Again, he tugs at his wrists, plastic biting his skin. Zip ties, simple and effective. _Fucking_ _annoying_ no matter what. He doesn't have any good leverage to free himself, not that he wants to.  All he can do is bide his time. 

Piers flexes his fingers, wrapping them around the arms of the chair. His leg is bouncing, an anxious response he can’t stop. He can feel eyes on him, burning into his skull from across the room. It takes everything in him to not call out. Only being able to hear his breath is making him nervous, enough to have him sweating as it coils around anticipation. 

Finally, they speak up, “Anything you wanna tell me?” 

The Sniper’s head flicks up. He’s staring at them, he thinks, a response as good as any he'd be able to vocalize. Say enough to satisfy, enough to keep you alive, but not enough to hurt anyone else, he repeats to himself. Common practice for their training exercises, common for now when they didn't have the information to truly fill in the gaps. 

The interrogator sighs. Piers' silence has stretched for too long. Closer suddenly, they stop in front of him when there is no more space and their knees knock against his own. Too close. Feeling them lean down, Piers involuntarily leans further back to try and get away. They follow him down, so close to his face. 

“You weren’t alone out there,” the statement is left in the air for about five seconds too long, “Who were you with?” 

Piers bites down on his cheeks but that is the wrong response. 

His interrogator grabs his head, forcing him closer still, “Who. Were. You. With?”

The sniper swallows, then bites, “Just a civilian.” 

Their nails dig into his skull, “A civilian with a gun?” 

“It’s not that odd-” Piers rushes, face pulled into a grimace.

The sniper grunts, head pushed to the side in a violent release. It stays there, mostly to hide the way Piers's lip lifts in a sneer, partly to seem submissive. The man seems to agree with the latter. As he paces around the chair, Piers can feel a wave of heat. Chris's baritone was bad enough in bed on it's own, but like this, aggressive, commanding. It was hardly what they were used to. 

A hand grabs the back of the chair, next to his shoulder. Piers sucks in a startled breath, nerves on edge. Chris's nails had scraped his shoulder, but he still refused to touch him. 

"Let's say you  _ were _ with a civilian," the man drawls, "What were they doing with you?" 

"Nothing," Piers gropes for a better answer, "They just wanted to talk."

Suddenly closer, "About?" 

Piers had dug the hole, but it might not be able to dig it any deeper, "I don't remember." Fuck. That wasn't enough.

"You don't?"

"I don't," Piers says with confidence, though his heart has sunk far past his stomach, fluttering and sending his pulse to pound away in his skull.

Behind him, Piers can tell what the other is doing. Chris is letting it stew. The silence crowds him for an uncomfortable length of time,  letting paranoia and anxiety sink in further. 

"I don't believe that," His voice finally comes next to Piers's ear, forcing a shudder through the sniper. Chris's grab his shoulders, squeezing, then dragging down to the front of his chest. They rest flat on his collar, close to his throat. It pulls them closer, letting Piers feel Chris's breath on the back of his neck; Warm and damp puffs.

“W..” he fights to not shake his head, “What do you want me to say?”

A few more tense seconds pass. “The truth, sweetheart.” 

The Brunette lingers for all but a moment. His warmth is gone and he’s walking away, or, Piers _thinks_ he’s walking away. Excitement leaps up into his throat, tongue heavy and saliva collecting until he has to swallow it. He calls out without thinking. 

“I don’t have anything else to tell you!”

His leg is bouncing again, quick enough one might think it was shaking. It wasn't. No. Piers wouldn't shake from something like this. His fingers have turned white-knuckled, holding so tightly to the metal beneath them. They grip tighter when the man stomps back to him, leaning down into his space too quickly for Pier’s to properly retreat. Skin brushes his cheek, hands suddenly gripping his arms tightly, pressing them into the chair. Piers gasps, shoulders thudding against the back of the chair with his quick retreat. 

“Nothing at all?”

“Nothing..” Piers’ voice is small. 

“I still don’t believe you.” 

Piers swallows.

“But..” a hand brushes his cheek, making him flinch, “I could be willing to overlook that.” 

The sniper’s pulse spikes. The room is starting to feel suffocating, closing in on the two at the center of it. It happens dizzyingly quick. 

“What do you mean?” How he manages to keep his voice steady is a miracle. 

Chris chuckles, “You don’t need to know that,” his body is suddenly far too close, hands feeling up his arms, “Just sit back.” 

Blinded, Piers’ senses feel heightened, every touch that much more noticeable and that much more intriguing to his body. He knows all too well how that works, can feel all too well how his body is starting to react even more. Hands roam from his arms to his chest, feeling down to his waist, pushing combat gear out of the way. He knows the angle that's been presented. Now if he can just play it right..

Piers straightens in Chris's touch, “If,” he has to stifle a gasp, “If you untie me, I’ll make it worth your while.” He puts all the confidence he can muster into it.

Chris just laughs, squeezing his sides in a way that he knows gets Piers to squirm, “Not gonna happen.” 

Piers wants to curse. Be it out of frustration at being tied up, or frustration over how wound up his body has become since the scene started.  It doesn’t help that Chris finds all the most sensitive spots he can, even under all Piers's gear, attacking the bits where less fabric covers him, striking where his vest doesn’t come down all the way. Piers hears fabric rustling, listens closely as his partner moves again, this time settling on his knees he thinks, because his hands have come to his thighs. Chris is quick to go for his belt, undoing tactical and regular, getting all the pouches out of the way. 

Piers bites his tongue, holding in a no doubt embarrassing noise as the taller man goes for his briefs. There’s no hesitation at all as Chris grabs his half hard dick through the fabric, rubbing at the outline. His hands ball into fists, legs tensing. He could kick out, push him away, pull him closer. The temptation to wrap his legs around Chris and force him closer was a strong one. What would Chris do? Would he let it happen? Would he push him away? Would he- He gasps. 

Lazily, the man jack’s him off. It’s a light friction, no spit or anything, but it elicits a reaction from his body none the less. His knees are pushed apart, leaving room for the man to crawl between.

“What are you doin-!” Piers chokes on his words as their mouth envelops his cock, “Oh fuck-”

The sniper falls forward, muscles clenching tightly in his stomach. Chris focuses on the head, tongue swirling around the tip before he went down. Every touch that dragged Piers in further had him swallowing his own voice. His nails scratch against the chair, wrists pulling uselessly. His boots scrape against the floor, Piers trying to keep them against the chair's legs. 

The sniper won’t admit that what came out of him was a moan. It’s not his fault that feeling someone else's throat around his dick, feeling that warm cavern constrict around his dick, felt so  _ good _ . Fuck, and when he swallows around him- Piers lets out a whimper, unable to stop himself when his hips cant forward but _can’t_. He’s pinned by Chris’s hand. 

“Ch-ah!” 

Teeth grace of sensitive flesh, “No names, sweetheart.”

Piers bites his lip. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again with my bull, whoop


	15. Toys/vibrator (Wesker x Chris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 14: Toys/Vibrators  
> Ship: Albert Wesker x Chris Redfield  
> Warnings: I don't even think this needs to be here at this point, but

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry, I just want bottom Wesker

“Come on,” Chris whined, “You won’t know if you never try it~”

“You are an insufferable beast.”

“I think you mean insatiable~” 

“I am certain I mean _insufferable_.”

“So… You don’t want to try it?”

Wesker’s face doesn’t change, but there’s a light blush dotting his cheeks, “...I don’t recall saying no.”

How Chris had convinced Wesker of all people to even try using sex toys was a miracle. Though Wesker did have his own conditions. Not at work (Chris can’t blame him), not in public (How could anyone so cruelly tell that adorable puppy face no?), and only on one of their shared days off. Chris has his suspicions about why, but he wasn't planning on saying anything to his captain’s face. 

Chris thought that Wesker saw this as some sort of drawn out foreplay, which, it certainly was, just possibly not what the man had thought it was going to be. For fear of getting caught up in the act, Chris had given Wesker the toy, a simple looking plug that didn’t have too much girth nor length, and had let the man do with it what he wanted. Chris has honestly thought Wesker would just get rid of it.

Wesker, on one of their days off, invited Chris over (God forbid he go to the other man’s house for once), and Chris had been quick to arrive. 

Eagerly waiting before the locked door, Chris fiddles with something in his pockets. He can’t stand still, never could, and all that pent up energy is put to use when Wesker opens the door and he latches on to the man. The kiss is short but sweet. Wesker pulls away to close the door, pushing his glasses up his face. He won’t make direct eye contact with the brunette. Perceptive as.. Well as Chris could be, he notices the light blush on Wesker’s cheeks. 

“Are you wearing it?” His voice comes out more of a breathless whisper.

“I am..” Wesker swallows, “not certain of the appeal.” 

Chris looks like a happy puppy, “That wasn’t a no.”

“It wasn’t.” 

It is Wesker who leans in first for the kiss this time, more aggressive, bruising. It forces a gasp from Chris’ throat, lost between their mouths as hands reach around his back. They find his spine and ass, Wesker more than happy to grope. Chris is almost sad to pull away. 

Chris was indeed a happy puppy. “I’d have gotten take-out but,” he looks up and down Wesker, “I don’t think you're the type.”

Wesker snorts, “Classy.”

Grin never leaving his face, Chris leans in closer, wrapping an arm around Wesker, “I can make it classy.” 

“I think you would just ruin it,” Wesker shares a matching look. 

The brunette’s lips curl higher, “Then I’ll just have to show you some time.” 

Hand still in his pocket, Chris fidgets a little more. He’s had a hold on it the entire time, but his nerves are going haywire and he can almost taste the adrenaline his body is starting to secrete. Not yet, he tells himself. 

“The couch fine?” His arm leaves Wesker, already walking towards the sofa. Chris can feel Wesker squinting at him.

“You never ask,” the blonde doesn’t follow, genuinely surprised but more suspicious. Polite behaviour from Chris was weird. He’d say the man could do to use it more, but out of the blue; He didn’t trust it. 

“Maybe I wanna be nice,” Chris plops gracelessly down on the sofa, unoccupied arm going back to rest on the cushions. He looks like a very comfortable cat. 

Wesker doesn’t say anything, though the words are still there. ‘You want something, right?’ But Chris knows that doesn’t sound right. It’s not how Wesker would say it. He _wants_ Wesker to say it, voice his suspicions and give Chris the chance, but Wesker probably knows that’s what he wants. The man may have agreed to bottoming for a change, but he wasn’t just going to go down easy, it seemed. 

Chris gestures, motioning for Wesker to come over. Always so confident in a place that wasn’t his. Wesker makes his way over non the less, eager as well. He makes it all of five steps before his knees nearly give out and his mouth drops open in a gasp. Wesker uses that wall as support, gathering himself as quickly as he could, and that’s fairly quick, before he shoots a glare over to Chris; Though, the vibrations suddenly coursing through him make it less effective.

That stupid grin has turned into one full of mischief and teeth, “Like it?” 

“You.. are a heathen,” Wesker tries to seethe, but his voice is too full of mirth and excitement.

Chris's snicker is loud enough to blanket Wesker, keeping the man’s eyes on him as he makes the motion again, though more of a ‘come hither’ this time. Wesker finds amusement in the fact that Chris has the audacity to be smug right now. Who was he kidding, he probably would be too. 

“Come on, Captain. Let me take the edge off.”

On shaky feet, Wesker rights himself. He nearly lets out a sigh of relief when Chris turns the toy off. Nearly. Without the pleasurable onslaught, he manages a very controlled walk to Chris. He doesn’t want his pleasure to show on his face, the little shit doesn’t deserve the satisfaction after what he just did, but it’s hard to hide. His nerves are tingling with the memory of it, body now over sensitive with anticipation over whether Chris will do that again with every step. But he makes it without incident.

His subordinate must be feeling generous, because he’s patting his lap and guiding Wesker down as he gets his thighs around Chris’s. Somewhat back in his element, Wesker, on autopilot, wraps his arms around Chris’s shoulders, sliding up close so their chests almost touch. He clasps his hands together behind the brunette, wiggles his hips.

Chris doesn’t let him get any more comfortable. 

The vibrator kicks back up. Wesker swallows his moan, fingers digging suddenly into Chris’s back. His thighs tense and his stomach curls in. But Chris is holding him, keeping him up and, as Wesker soon notices, keeping him from properly rolling his hips. The cheeky bastard. 

“Chris..” he wouldn’t beg. 

As if his smile couldn’t get any wider, “Yes, Wesker?” 

“Fuck you.”

“That’s what I plan on doing, Captain~”

...

He might beg.


	16. Sensory Deprivation (Aizawa x Hizashi)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 15: Sensory Deprivation  
> Ship: Shouta Aizawa x Yamada Hizashi  
> Warning(s): Nothing much, honestly pretty tame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief snippet of Aizawa being blindfolded and Hizashi being gagged

**Aizawa**

Hizashi has always had a very gentle hand. He makes it known with how he works, with how he ties knots and smooths the fabric of his clothes. He’s always precise. 

It helps a lot. Aizawa has always been anxious, especially about his quirk. His whole career relied on his eyes and his physical abilities. But anxiety always pulls a bit tighter when he can’t see his target. It winds around him like a threaded web of dark thoughts and insecurities. 

The blonde takes extra care in how he wraps the black cloth around Aizawa’s face, taking his time to make a loose tie of the ends. It’s soft, resting comfortably over the raven’s eyelids. But he’s still blind. The light of the room bleeds through the fabric slightly, and if he holds his eyes open, he can make out the shape of Hizashi if he looks at just the right angle, but he can’t _see_ him. 

Aizawa’s heart is pounding away in it’s confines, spreading his nerves much like his blood. He can explain why his hands shake, but he can’t explain why he jumps when Hizashi touches his back. The blonde soothes him, though, running a hand through his hair to get it out of his face. 

“I’m right here, Sho. It’s just us.” 

He was always there. 

Hizashi’s hands wrap around his waist, fingers meeting together in the front so the blonde can rest his chin on Aizawa’s shoulder. He doesn't move from there, which Aizawa appreciates.

“I’m gonna tell you what I’m doing, okay?”

Aizawa nods. His mouth is full of cotton. 

“Alright,” the blonde’s hand moves, “I’m gonna touch your thighs,” and he does. He waits a moment first to be sure that he was heard, then strokes down the exposed flesh. 

Hizashi does it every time he moves. Every action is warned, every touch featherlight and gentle. And before he becomes bolder, he _tells_ Shouta. The voice hero couldn’t possibly know how much that means to Aizawa, or maybe he does because he takes so much care with every action. Never once does he falter, and only once more does Aizawa flinch when he is touched. But he knows what he's doing. He has to know how he make's the raven feel. 

Aizawa is safe here because Hizashi is there to catch him when he no doubt falls.

**Hizashi**

Aizawa fidgets too much. Often out of sight, messing with his nails while they are in his pockets. There’s a certain comfort he finds when he is allowed to focus solely on the movement. It helps that no one expects him to talk much, to fill the silence. It lets him be in the moment. 

He can’t keep his hands still, fumbling with the fabric he holds. But Hizashi is smiling at him, petting his arm in a reassuring gesture. Aizawa flashes one back, though there is little confidence when he rolls the fabric a bit, rubbing his thumb over Hizashi’s lip as the man opens his mouth.

There is decidedly less concern with muting Hizashi, Aizawa notes. He can always still scream, still use his quirk just fine. He has screamed into his palms enough time that Aizawa knows it can still hurt. To have him silent...

The fabric is pushed in, loose strands taken back and knotted behind the blonde’s head. Hizashi bites down on the cloth, moving it a bit with his tongue. He could probably push it out of his mouth if he wanted to. But he doesn’t. 

It is calming to hear a muffled grunt or sound of affirmation, Hizashi does give him that. And far more often that he ever has, Aizawa talks more than Hizashi. He feels like he's rambling to block out the ringing that tries to fill his hears, but at some point, he stops talking all together. Soon enough it's just them and the beautiful sounds of their bodies and not their mouths. It was all for them. Another proof of trust that ran far deeper than Aizawa could admit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and simple but hopefully sweet. Ah, it's harder to write spicy stuff so often than I thought it would be


	17. Cockwarming (Piers x Chris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 16: Cockwarming  
> Ship: Piers Nivans x Chris Redfield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live

Chris leans back into the couch, browsing through the contents of his phone lazily. The movie he’d put on had long since become boring, something random that Piers had pointed out so they could stop looking. Even though he had expressed interest, it wasn’t as though Piers could see the TV. 

Resting on his knees, Piers rolls his shoulders. They feel stiff. His knees feel stiffer, radiating a soreness that could only be outmatched by the numbness in his lower legs that is slowly being replaced with static. He can move his shoulders -does so often- but he cannot move his legs. His arms are a different case. Though he supposes if they were bound behind him he would feel the same. Piers keeps his hands clasped together, fidgeting with his nails to give himself something more to do. He has to focus greatly on his breathing, slowly in and carefully out.

Though Chris’ cock is warm and familiar, Piers’ jaw is starting to ache. Pulling away would be disobeying, touching would be disobeying -himself or Chris- so he does neither. 

Swallowing had been something interesting to figure out, trying to keep his saliva in his mouth rather than dripping down his face and onto Chris or the floor. Piers had more or less given up on that, knowing that every flex of his throat or tongue was like him pushing the sand along in the hourglass. His chin felt sticky and gross, throat starting to feel as though there was an itch he needs to scratch. His cheeks join the feeling, streaked with warm lines from the tears that bubble in his eyes. He wants to wipe them away, to clear his eyes before the liquid has it’s chance to spread. Piers stays still. 

The sniper cannot stay still for long. The ache in his legs is becoming unbearable, and he tries for the smallest shift to try and alleviate some of the discomfort. It helps for a moment before the static returns with even more force, poking at him with it’s vicious needles. He winces.

Above, Chris is looking over his phone at Piers, watching him -because of course Chris notices when he finally moves and not when he whines or looks up with puppy dog eyes. Chris smiles. He reaches out with his hand, cupping Piers’ face. Warm fingers rub at the smaller man’s cheek, soothing to the sniper’s sore jaw. Piers’ eyes fall close, sending more tears down his cheeks. He hums around Chris, swallowing to clear his saliva now that Chris’ attention is fully on him. Chris shivers, fingers tightening around his face enough to let his nails press against Piers’ skin. 

Chris’ thumb traces where his dick meets Piers’ mouth, wiping some of the spit away. Piers’ nose is almost flat against Chris’ pelvis, smooth cheek on one of Chris’ thighs. The sniper wants to nuzzle and kiss and lick. He wants to pay attention to every part of Chris, wants to make him cum harder than he has before -His most ambitious goal yet. 

The Brunette shifts again, the fabric of his pants rubbing against his own arousal uncomfortably. He whines, stomach twitching at the sudden stimuli. Piers’ clenches his hands, nails biting crescents into his skin to keep himself restrained. 

“Bet you want a little attention, don’t you?”

Piers’ eyes snap open to Chris, trying to nod. Chris pets down his face, half-heartedly chuckling as the sniper spreads his legs open for him. So Chris nudges at Piers’ thigh with his foot, spreading them a little more so he can lean and get a better look at the erection straining against his pants. Piers whines even louder. 

Chris humors, “Think you could finish like this?” He doesn’t plan to leave him hanging, but the thought sends another jolt through him, another delicious spark. 

Piers lets out the most beautiful whimper, rolling his hips up like he wants that to be his argument. Chris is tempted to let him try and beg with his mouth full. Left to it, he thinks Piers might try. The sniper did look beautiful begging.

“You’ve sat a while already…” He trails off, fingers wrapping around to weave between Piers’ short locks, “.. at ease.”

Piers’ eyes light up, Chris swears. The sniper wastes no time, hand on his groin, grabbing at himself through the material. He rolls his hips against his palm, eager. His other hand goes to Chris’ knee, holding it firmly as he finally gets to move. But he doesn’t pull away. He instead glides back so there is space to use his tongue against his Captain’s cock. Chris shivers with pleasure, almost turning to jelly.

“Fuck.. Piers,” He’s breathless, fingers tight in the Sniper’s hair, guiding him back and forth, sending wave after wave crashing through him after such a long time of inactivity. 

Below, Piers’ is frantically jacking himself off, working messily but trying to keep the rhythm on himself the same as he does to Chris. It falls apart quickly, a catastrophe from the start, but it’s enough after so long of aching and and moving so little to try and ignore himself that he’s thrown over the edge. Orgasm crashes into him, making him gasp and open his throat to Chris as the man finishes guiding him. He lets Chris use him as his limbs turn heavy, pliant to the abuse his throat receives. 

Chris crashes over, cumming down his throat. He’s so deep that Piers doesn’t even taste it but coughs and starts to choke. Thankfully, his Captain pulls away, letting him catch his breath and finally breathe properly for the first time in what feels like hours. 

“Next time,” Chris starts after the high has calmed, “How ‘bout I get on my knees?”

Piers feels weak all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a lot of prompts plotted but not written so gonna go power write then crash or something  
> Caffeine is all I need rn and I'd be set


	18. Gags (Katagawa x Troy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 17: Gags  
> Ship: Troy Calypso x Katagawa Jr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More guilty pleasure/rarepair nonsense

Katagawa still has that righteous smirk on his face, even through the blissed out look he wears. It seems cemented in place. Troy wants to wipe it off.

The God-King archs his back, moaning a muffled sound as Katagawa rolls his hips just right, sliding back down onto the Siren's cock with perfect grace. The Maliwan head digs his nails into Troy's chest, biting his bottom lip hard enough to make the reddened flesh sting. 

Katagawa has settled on a slow rhythm, taking his sweet time for every rise and fall to take in all that he can. It makes it easy for Troy to rise to meet every thrust, rolling his body just right. It's comfortable if not a near torturous tease. 

Troy is much more docile like this, restrained only by words to keep his arms above his head and deliciously gagged. The bit gag rests tightly between his teeth, digging into the flesh on his cheeks and making them red and raw. Spit and drool drips down his chin, lips almost making a snarl. Katagawa is certain the man _would_ be snarling if he could, spitting back at his remarks with his own witty statements. This encounter has been so much more pleasant now that he can't.

Over the gags material, sharp canines glint dangerously. Katagawa can feel the phantom pains those beasts have caused him, shivers as he imagines the marks that have been left on his neck. The deep rivets and drawn blood. 

"Just like that, Calypso," Kat murmurs.

Katagawa's head falls back, eyes lidding closed and he finds what he wants. Troy's cock meets his prostate. His thrusts hit home, sending a sharp and sudden pleasure through Kat that has a spasm running through his body. He gasps, loud and unabashed. He huffs a short laugh, shifting so his rhythm was just right. And he finds his mark again and again, letting Troy turn him once more into a gasping wreck. Even slow and methodical, Katagawa thinks this will be over soon. At least, round one. 

Troy balls his fists, grabbing onto metal with flesh -He knows where to hook his fingers for a perfect hold, letting the metal bite back at him. His face contorts, Katagawa clenching down around him, so tight and warm. His stomach curls and twists, heart loud in his ears as the pleasure continues to rise. Katagawa's voice is unfortunately louder.

"Looking rough there, puppy~" Katagawa’s voice is harsh around the edges. 

Troy hisses out something, a garbled mess that barely sounds like he’s trying to speak. Katagawa’s lips curl, catlike. The Maliwan head digs his fingers into Troy’s chest, dragging them down his tattoos. The siren groans, baring his torso and neck in another beautiful arch. Katagawa wants to snap a collar around his neck in that moment, something red just like the markings. 

"What? Gonna bite me,  _ puppy~ _ ?" Oh yes, a collar would be lovely. 

Troy growls a feral sound. Katagawa shivers. The siren surges forward, grabbing Kat by the hips and slamming his back down onto the mattress. Katagawa groans, hands scrambling to find something -they end up in the sheets- legs splayed out around Troy’s thighs. Metal and flesh hands press painfully into his skin, sure to leave mismatched bruises. Troy isn't done, diving in to go straight for Kat’s throat. Unable to nip or kiss, he nuzzles, rolling his hips at a pace more his style. Katagawa would hate to admit that that was hot. His gut practically flips, muscles tight and body oh so close to spilling over. 

"Wow, boy,” Katagawa chuckles, trying to gain his bearings “Calm down~"

The siren growls again, snapping his hips forward. Katagawa gasps, chest tightening in arousal that slams straight into him. He sighs as the pace settles back, catching the breath that was snatched out of him. He wasn't going to last long at all. 

Moisture collects around Kat’s neck, sticky and warm, most certainly not sweat. The drool falling from Troy’s mouth is smeared around, the taller man unable to care about the mess he's making. Katagawa notices, grimacing, squirming to shift away. But Troy stays where he is, pressing his face where he had left angry teeth marks on Kat’s neck. The Siren wasn't going anywhere. 

Katagawa huffs, “I hope you’re ready to clean this up before we’re done.”

The Maliwan head swears he can feel the smile Troy tries to make, but he certainly feels the glide of the gag on his flesh and the spit that both drag up in a mockery of a lick to his jaw. It's cool and gross, but just enough to make his breath stutter and his own back arch up into Troy's chest. His mind flashes with the sensation of _teeth_ , painful and good. And that's all it takes. 

Katagawa cums with a cry, hand jumping to Troy's shoulder, drawing lines from his neck to spinal rig. The mess collects on his stomach, familiar and blissful even as Troy pounds away at him, seeking his own release. And it doesn't take him long to find it. The man sputters and stills, groan muffled through the bit gag as his cum fills Katagawa. The smaller man squirms, body sensitive but oh so ready for more. His nails rake down to Troy's waist, almost tearing the sheets as he forcefully pulls Troy against him. Their panting chests meet, spreading the mess between their bodies. 

When have they ever cared about a little mess?


	19. Biting (Wesker x Chris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 18: Biting  
> Ship: Albert Wesker x Chris Redfield  
> Tags: How I imagine their first time, Wall sex, biting, aggressive, maybe bottom Wesker again?

As everything seemed to be with Wesker, he was efficient. 

His mouth was everywhere, trying to consume all the air in Chris’ lungs. His hands were prying under his subordinate's shirt, wrinkling the material as it bunches so he can feel the toned flesh of his stomach. Wesker wanted more, touching everywhere he could, raking his nails down and drawing red divots. Chris groans into his mouth every time, and Wesker continues to swallow the sounds. 

Wesker has Chris backed against the wall, pressing his weight into the man like he’s afraid he’ll want to leave. But Chris is just as eager. Dexterous fingers have already managed to undo the button’s of Wesker’s shirt, searching now for his belt to rip it free. The leather clashes with the floor, forgotten quickly as Chris goes for the button and zipper of Wesker’s pants -Which would be easier if Wesker wasn’t trying to grind into Chris’ hand. And the S.T.A.R.S. Agent can’t help but roll his hips back, seeking the friction his Captain’s thigh so deliciously offers. 

Despite how quick it’s all happened, Wesker thinks that they are too _slow_. He wants Chris out of his shirt already, wants his pants out of the way so badly he almost rips them off as he goes for the waistband. 

The kiss progressively gets harsher, more teeth and tongue than what they had started with, leaving their lips red and Chris’ sore. When they finally part, Christ sucks in all the oxygen he can get, gasping as Wesker mouths at his throat. His Captain's movements feel forced, slow and collected like everything else he did. Like he was holding back. Chris yanks him down by the shirt, hand shooting to slicked back blonde hair to pull Wesker closer. 

A small sound escapes Wesker, muffled against Chris’ collar. And that’s all the restraint he exhibits. 

Wesker’s teeth pierce Chris, pinching a patch of sensitive flesh. Chris sucks in the air around him, hands pressing tight against Wesker’s skull. The man drags his teeth, taking skin with it. Chris can barely keep silent. 

The Captain draws back, fixing his sunglasses and murmuring out an apology that he never gets to finish. 

Chris drags him back down, slamming his mouth over Wesker’s in a short kiss. When he breaks away his pupils are blown wide, breath uneven, both oozing with arousal.

"Fuckin- do that again."

Wesker does. He leans back down, mouthing over the bright teeth marks he’s left, then he moves higher. That’s all the warning Chris gets before those straight teeth are back in his neck, mixing pain with the growing arousal in his pants. And then Wesker fucking sucks his skin into his mouth. The hickey that he will leave is sure to hurt, but fuck it, Chris doesn’t care because it feels amazing. He moans, practically begging Wesker to do that again. And he does, biting another mark near his chin where he knows he won’t be able to hide it tomorrow unless he actually remembers to pop his collar. And someone would still see it. 

Chris needs more. 

He barely manages to get Wesker’s shirt off, tearing it down his back and tugging until the man slips his arms out. His own is gone in a flash, yanked over his head and tossed to the floor in a messy pile. Wesker goes for his pants, popping the button and nearly ripping his zipper. Chris does the same, getting the waistband down Wesker’s thighs but just missing his briefs. Wesker doesn’t make the same mistake, managing to snag both and yank them down to Chris’ knees. He barely gets the time to slide his legs out of them -He’s thankful he had left his boots at the door this time.

Wesker’s more careful, pulling back to ease himself out of his pants and underwear. Chris is right there to drag him out of the clothes, throwing them out of the way so he can drag the man’s bare chest against his own. And he knows that twitch in his lip, the one that shows his annoyance. Right before he can speak, Chris kisses him again, silencing any complaints about the treatment of his clothes. Wesker bites his lip, taking it between his teeth. Chris shivers, nails biting into Wesker’s shoulders. He can feel Wesker's smirk against him this time.

The blonde bites Chris' chin again, trailing down his neck much gentler now, leaving a line of blooming red until he gets to his chest. Knowing his marks will be better hidden, Wesker bites harder, teasing Chris. His subordinate groans through grit teeth, hand keeping a firm grip on his hair, no doubt messing it up. Spurred on, Wesker trails lower, taking a nipple between his teeth, careful though, watching the way Chris starts to writhe under his touch. And it sparks such an intense feeling in his chest. He drops lower, biting a bruising trail down Chris' stomach, dragging his teeth over the man's hips and waist. Skipping his groin completely, Wesker goes for Chris' thighs. He sinks into the toned flesh, leaving an army of crescent shapes behind. Chris nearly doubles over in pleasure, held in place only by Wesker's hands on his hips. 

"Oh fuck- Captain," He whines, head thudding against the wall. 

Chris' cock twitches, neglected and aching. Wesker smirks despite feeling much the same. 

How he's fallen to his knees so quick, he doesn't care. The sounds Wesker is pulling from Chris are worth it, twisting around in his gut delightfully so. 

Wesker bites the part of flesh where thigh meets pelvis, relishing in how Chris arches and cries out. His nails are painful against Wesker's skull, digging in and dragging through messy locks. Chris is more than happy to rake his fingers back through, grabbing on tight enough to keep Wesker where he was. The blonde doesn't protest, not yet, happy to keep nipping Chris's thighs and pelvis. The teasing is clearly getting to Chris.

Pre drips from his cock, glistening in the low light. It tempts Wesker, makes him ache harder. Oh fuck it. 

Wesker takes the tip of Chris' cock into his mouth, shivers at the taste and feel of it. Chris makes this breathless sound, both hands now in Wesker's hair, trying to drag him down. But Wesker is stronger. He goes at his own pace, groaning around Chris, making the man shudder and gasp. Taking more into his mouth, Wesker looks up to find Chris watching, eyes filled with something like disbelief. His lips would've curled into a grin if they could. Instead, he takes his teeth and lightly grazes them over Chris' dick. 

Chris does double over this time, managing to get Wesker further down his cock as he cums with a blissful cry. Wesker's nails dig into Chris' thighs, throat spasming at the sudden breach and fluid that fills his mouth. As soon as Chris gives him an inch, he pulls off, coughing and wiping at his mouth. But, as Chris notes with satisfaction, there's nothing for him to spit out. 

"Holy shit.." 

Fluidly, like Wesker hadn't just deepthroated Chris, Wesker rises, leaning over his subordinate's breathless form. Chris shivers. 

"My turn."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got my coffee


	20. Humiliation (Jack x Rhys)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 19: Humiliation  
> Ship: Handsome Jack x Rhys Strongfork  
> Tags: Bottom Jack, Top Rhys, will I ever stop shipping Rhys with people, who knows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mask stays on during sex

The mattress conforms to Jack’s back, sheets bunched up under him where his toes curl and his knees bend. His hair is a mess, gelled strands thrown out of place. Jack throws his head back, mouth open in a breathless sound. Atop him, Rhys is perched on his thighs. The younger man rolls his hips, rocking them in an unsteady and lazy rhythm. The way he rides Jack’s cock is perfect. 

Jack has a hand on Rhys’ hip, the other on the man’s wrist as it claws at his chest. It helps him control the pace a bit, let’s him hold Rhys down when he thinks he’s moving too fast. Not like that’s stopped him so far. 

Despite what Jack would say, Rhys was the one in control here. 

“Looking good down there, Handsome~”

Jack groans, bucking his hips into that tight heat. His grip tightens, trying to hold Rhys still and failing. Rhys’ cybernetic is strong, working welts into Jack’s chest. Jack is still tense, more so now as the pleasure creeps closer, wrapping around him like the most comfortable blanket he owns. 

“Always so tight, tsk. Maybe I should be the one fucking you,” Rhys purrs, breathy. 

Jack shivers beneath him, letting out something akin to a whine. Rhys revels in the sound. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He waits a beat for a nod, “Yeah, thought so. You’re always so good to me..” Rhys trails, chewing at his lip when Jack’s dick slides back into him just right. “Bet you'd want to see your face, too.” Rhys swears to the Gods that Jack just let out a fucking whimper, all high pitched and wrecked. “Oh, you’d love it.”

Jack’s breathing has picked up, noticeably strained now as he tries to keep up. The man had always had amazing stamina, but the younger could certainly wear him out if he was patient enough. His nails leave deep indents, scratching down harshly enough to draw bubbling welts. Rhys grunts, grimacing and skin prickly in a mixture of pain and pleasure. 

With his prosthetic, Rhys grabs Jack’s wrist, drawing it up and over his head, “Want to do the other for me, Handsome?” Jack nods, letting go of Rhys’ hip to put both hands over his hand. His fingers intertwine with Rhys’ metal ones. The younger holds them there, leaning over Jack to correct his own balance. “That’s good- fuck.. I should’ve grabbed a mirror,” Rhys groans, “Remember when we did that last time?”

“Fuck yes.” 

“Do you even know what you look like right now?” 

Jack shakes his head, looking up at Rhys with an expression of bliss as muscles clamps down around his cock. From this angle, he can better meet the brunette, thrusting up into an unyielding grip. It leaves him yearning and desperate for his release. 

“You look like a fucking mess,” Rhys’ organic hand reaches up to hold Jack’s jaw, thumbing over his lip, “You’re drooling too. It’s so fucking beautiful,” there’s that throaty chuckle again, “I can see you blushing, around the edges of your mask… You’re crying,” That chuckle is more of a laugh, “Fuck, you're crying. I love it. You’re a wreck and it’s all for me.” Rhys rolls his hips, renewed and wanting so desperately for the pleasure to tip over, yet wanting for this to last. “You like being filthy for me?”

Jack moans, back arching and the aforementioned tears sticking to his cheeks. Even with his mask in place, Jack can feel the warmth of them, more so underneath where the blush and puffy skin is trapped. 

“I asked you a question, Handsome,” Rhys’ voice is surprisingly stern, “You’re not gonna leave me hanging, are you?” 

“No!" Jack scrambles, "Rhys- yes.”

“That’s right. Filthy, all for me~” Rhys grinds down against Jack, eliciting a few louder moans, “You’d look so pretty covered in cum for me, so pretty.” Jack visibly shudders. 

Rhys feels almost in over his head, high from pleasure and what he could swear was power. Jack was keening beneath him, rolling up to meet every thrust, practically wanton and so open with his voice. He was still in control enough to keep the more embarrassing sounds in his throat, though he slipped up and let out a whine or a whimper here and there. He couldn’t help it. Seeing his usually timid Rhys act like this, taking over like such a natural. Jack felt like he was going to cum from that alone. 

“You’d just love it if I tied you up for once and used you like a fucking toy.”

Or his voice was going to do him in. 

Boldly, Rhys yanks Jack’s hands higher, closer to the headboard so Jack can hold on to it, which he does rather quickly. Rhys laments the loss of not having any bindings close enough. Jack would look so pretty in yellow or gold. Matching it with black and pearl. That would be Rhys’ undoing. 

The younger continues, “How about under my desk? Think you’d get caught?” A choked sound rips itself from Jack’s throat, “You’d be so beautiful beneath me while I worked. Think you could just sit there? Or would you be such an eager slut and suck until I came in your mouth?” The sound Jack makes this time is one Rhys knows well, high and eager and oh so close. So he doesn’t stop, “Or, since you always love to say it to me, How about I leave you tied up, open and aching for anyone to take you. You’d be so eager, wouldn’t you? Let anyone come in and fuck you?”

That does it.

Jack comes with a strangled cry, knuckles white as they hold onto the headboard for dear life. He fills Rhys, who shivers and grinds down, riding out Jack’s orgasm, muscle walls clenching down and milking the man dry. He rolls his hips down harder, groaning out his own cry. He’s sent over not too long after, shouting as he spills over Jack’s bare chest. 

Rhys collapses onto Jack’s chest, his own heaving as he curls closer to the older man. Jack releases the headboard, careful with his shoulders as he brings his arms down, wrapping them around Rhys. He wince only briefly at the ache. 

“That..” Rhys starts between labored breath. 

“Was awesome, Pumpkin?” 

Rhys leans back on his arms, meeting Jack’s content gaze and smirk, “It wasn’t too much?”

“Too much? Rhysie, don’t tell me you think I’ve gone soft~” Jack snickers, tugging the shorter man closer. 

“N-no, I was just worried, y-ya know." He's starting to twiddle his fingers, "With all I said, I thou-”

“Rhys,” Jack cuts him off sharply, “That was some of the best sex I’ve had.”

Rhys blanks for a moment, before he cracks a smile, “So I can do more, next time?”

“Princess,” Jack cracks his signature smirk, “I was afraid you wouldn’t ask~”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is honestly hard for me to see the difference between dirty talk and the humiliation shtick so um.. yeah


	21. Pinned (Piers x Jake)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 20: Pinned  
> Ship: Jake Muller x Piers Nivans  
> Tags: Wall sex,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fucking-  
> Jake pins Piers okay  
> Jake fucking pins Piers to the wall and fucks him okay

They couldn’t remember who threw the first punch. 

Piers was good with a combat knife. Jake was good at disarming people, even better at hand-to-hand than Piers. 

The Mercenary is quick to block almost everything Piers has to throw at him, dexterous and quick and ruthless when he sends the swing back. It was hard to connect. Piers was smaller, quick to dodge when it counted. Jake surges forward, feigning a right hook to the temple only to duck and go for Piers’ legs. It works. He connects, wrapping his arms around the sniper, getting him off the ground. Piers tries to brace his legs, holding on to Jake when his feet leave the ground. He can only brace himself as he hits the floor. 

Piers is quick as he rolls out from under Jake, taking the chance to kick his leg out. But that doesn’t slow him down. The Merc’s knee thuds against the concrete, arms out to right and propel himself forward. He latches onto the Sniper, not letting him get the chance to get away. Jake drags Piers back by the legs, locking his knees around his shins to keep Piers from kicking out again. Quickly, Piers finds that shoving won’t work. Jake feels like an immovable force, fast and strong as he tries to wrestle Piers flat to the ground. But Piers won’t let that happen. 

They wrestle for what feels like minutes when it’s only been seconds, Piers struggling to come out on top and Jake trying to stay on top. 

Being a sniper was Piers’ advantage right now. He bucked, dislodging Jake enough to do it again and throw him to the side. Jake grunts, rolling with the momentum to get up on his knee. Piers beats him to it. 

They watch each other, panting heavily and waiting for the other to act. The short moment it takes is agonizing, but it’s the break they both need. 

Piers spots his combat knife, glancing between it and Jake. It’s too obvious, the way he does it, because Jake looks too. And then they act. Piers dives after his knife. Jake is closer. With his new weapon, Jake jumps to his feet, Piers scrambling none too far behind, arms out in a defensive position. He flexes his fingers, ready to block. 

Far too relaxed, Jack tosses the blade, easily catching it. He wears a mocking smirk, “Come get it.” 

Piers snarls. It’s clear on his face that he knows Jake is baiting him. And it’s very clear he knows it’s a bad idea. Piers takes the bait anyway.

There was hardly any time to react. 

Jake’s hands were on the straps of his vest in an instant, shoving him back with a sudden force. Piers grunts, back and shoulder shooting with a twinge of pain as they collide with the wall. He doesn’t have much time to recover because Jake is moving his arm up, pressing his forearm right up against Piers’ throat, the other still tangled in his clothes. The strain cuts of air flow just enough to be concerning but not enough for Piers to pass out. Piers shoots his arm up, holding Jake’s wrist. He’s uncomfortably aware of how close this has brought his own combat knife is to his throat.

Leave it to the mercenary to know how to get in his face without actually hurting him. 

The sniper growls, baring his teeth. This doesn’t phase Jake, who just laughs. Irritated, Piers tries to kick at Jake again but the man brackets his legs, keeping him from getting any good leverage. Piers is well and truly trapped. And like any caged animal, Piers bares his canines and flares his chest. This only makes Jake laugh more. 

“Wow there, _fido_. Hehe, gonna bite me?”

Piers spits, “Fuck you.” He wants to ignore the feeling that creeps up his spine with a shiver, disgust rising from his stomach.

As soon as he starts to struggle, Jake presses harder, squishing him. A choked sound escapes Piers, like a cough or a gasp. He wheezes, pulling at the Merc’s arm. It is unyielding. 

“Let go of me-!” Piers forces out through grit teeth, pushing against the larger man’s body. 

Through all of Piers struggling, Jake manages to get a leg between the Sniper’s, trying to cage a thigh -the last thing he needs is to get kicked in the balls- but he freezes when Piers sucks in a shaky breath. He feels it too, the prominent bulge in the man’s fatigues. Piers only renews his struggles, pushing and squirming, trying to twist out of Jake’s grip. But he can hardly move like this, and every action only presses Jake’s arm harder against his throat, making him lightheaded and uncomfortably hot. 

“Piers.”

“Get off-!”

“Piers!” 

The sniper stills, looking at Jake but refusing to meet his gaze. He feels far too vulnerable like this, too warm, too close. 

“Let me go..”

Jake’s face somehow manages to soften. Features contort with a frown, eyes heavily focused on Piers’ face. That frown turns into a smirk that makes Piers shiver with.. _Something_. 

“Ya really want me to?” Jake’s knee hikes up, firm between Piers’ legs. 

The Sniper forces his breath, trying not to gasp and hardly succeeding. Piers is sure Jake would let him go if he asked again. 

Pushing at Jake’s hand -and surprised that the Merc lightened the pressure- Piers finally meets his eyes. There’s a wild tint to their colour, adrenaline induced and excited. _Well_ , Piers thinks, _we’re alone_.. When would he ever get a better chance?

Snatching the open collar of Jake’s shirt, Piers drags him down into a violent kiss. There isn't a moment of hesitation in Jake as he devours Piers, taking over with teeth and tongue. He throws the combat knife aside, hand leaving the Sniper's collar to grab at his waist. 

They break after a moment. Jake's smirk has returned, pupils blown much like Piers' own. 

"I'll take that as a no." 

The merc chuckles, replaces his arm with his hand around Piers' throat. Jake tugs at the scarf there, annoyed. He yanks it off of Piers, going for the clasps of the man's vest. The vest is ripped off, thrown to the side with Piers' packs and gear. Piers doesn't protest to the rough treatment, instead trying to help undo all the latches and straps.

With how effective Jake is, Piers might have to ask if he's done this before. 

Stopped before he can return the favour, Piers finds his arms trapped in an unyielding grip and his mouth assaulted once more by Jake's. Piers' arms are pinned to wall, back pressed firm against the surface. Jake's thigh presses harder, making Piers groan. The sniper rocks his hips, chasing after the bit of friction he's been given. He feels the slightest smirk against his mouth. If there's a remark the Merc wants to make, it falls on deaf ears. 

"C'mon," Piers mumbles. 

Jake parts from the kiss, biting at Piers' throat. He's taking his time with this, much to the annoyance of Piers.

"We don't have ti-" he bites down a moan, "time, Jake."

The merc sucks a mark into his neck, dragging his teeth across the reddening skin. 

"I'll make it work."

Piers curses. His head thuds against the wall, mind racing with want and anxiety in a near frustrating mix. They have to get back, and soon. If Chris came looking for him.. 

Jake bites him hard, making Piers gasp loudly, "Keep your mind on me, sunshine." 

Chris could wait a little while longer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you believe I finished this in class?


	22. Butt Plugs (Rhys x Katagawa)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 21: Butt Plug  
> Ship: Katagawa Jr x Rhys Strongfork  
> Tags: sex toys under clothing, improper gag

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm playing through RE6 again for some fuel to write some Resident evil ships, so those'll happen within this new week

“What is it this time?”

Katagawa blanks, “What?”

“The last time you followed me, you had an entire set of lingerie on. What is it this time?” There’s an air of humour to his tone, like Rhys is expecting another lacy set or something more interesting. 

He has to know because of the blush, Katagawa thinks. He can feel the heat slowly collecting there on his cheeks, dotting down to his neck. The Shibari tie he had been thinking about might have been more bearable. At least then he could have focused on the rope rather than the pleasurable jolt nearly every time he moves. 

Flicking from amusement to annoyance, Rhys prompts, “Gonna tell me? Or do you not have a surprise this time?” 

Katagawa swears Rhys sounded disappointed. 

“Ah! Oh.. Well,” Katagawa straightens his already straight tie, “I could show you~?”

Rhys’ brow raises by a hair. In interest. The CEO leans back on the couch, spreading his arms over the cushions, even spreading his thighs a bit. Katagawa admires the view of his crush all splayed out before him, taking his bottom lip between his teeth so he didn’t make any embarrassing sounds. Rhys motions with his hand, lips curling up slightly. 

“So show me.” 

Katagawa’s face lights up. Still fiddling with his tie, he strips it off first, letting it drop gracefully next to him. He’s much bolder with his jacket, letting it fall behind him in an indistinguishable heap that his button down soon joins. He can’t tell if it’s disappointment he sees once more on Rhys when there is nothing underneath, but he tells himself that Rhys will enjoy what he’s done. That thought alone spurs him on, making him clumsy with his belt in his haste. Leather joins the pile quickly enough, gloves discarded as well. 

Naked from the waist up, Katagawa makes his way over to the couch, unbuttoning his dress pants as he does. He’s slow with the zipper, no doubt teasing himself more than Rhys. When his knees are able to touch the cushions between the CEO’s legs, Katagawa slides out of his pants. Rhys looks skeptical as he does. 

“Are you just trying to get into my pants this time, Maliwan?”

Katagawa shivers, “Oh, there is a surprise, Rhys~ Trust me.”

Rhys nods.

The CEO guides Katagawa forward as he straddles his lap, legs splayed wider than normal thanks to how Rhys was sitting. More in his element now, Katagawa confidently sits up straight up his knees, teasingly sliding a hand down into his briefs. His thumb hooks on the band. Katagawa slides the underwear down, watching Rhys’ face as his cock springs free, hard and dripping with pre. He’d already been sporting an erection before this started, hopefully that Rhys’ was at least stirring. 

Rhys looks back up at him, clearly curious. But the face he makes is one of questioning, like he has a theory he wants to test. And it’s no surprise to Kat when Rhys yanks down his briefs. It is a little surprising when Rhys goes straight for his ass, though Katagawa’s indignant sound turns into a breathy moan as Rhys finds what he wants. 

“A plug? Really?” Rhys chuckles, messing with the base of the toy. 

“I thought it would be nice-” Kat’s head falls as Rhys twists the plug, “-for you! Ngh.. Makes it quicker, ya know.”

“Always thinking ahead, hmm?”

Katagawa nods, unaware of the slight jab thrown at him. He’s lost far too quickly in the pleasure of Rhys playing with the toy, drawing it out slowly, thrusting it back in harshly. The Maliwan Head chokes on a moan, muscles clenching down around the plug. 

“If it makes you like this,” less talkative and dare he say bearable to be around, “then I like it.”

Rhys fucks him lazily, enjoying greatly how simple it was to turn Katagawa from a put together business man to a wanton mess in his lap. Katagawa is loud in everything he does, unfortunately. He does nothing to hold back, lewd sounds pouring from his mouth, only getting louder. Rhys feels the resistance, how he clenches down harder, tries to hold the toy longer. So he stops. The whine Katagawa makes it almost worth this whole ordeal. 

“Rhys~ Come on,” Kat relies on his puppy dog eyes, “Just a little more.”

“Do it yourself.”

Rhys leans back again, folding his arms behind his head, much to Katagawa’s dissatisfaction. Despite this, the man wastes no time grabbing the plug himself, thrusting it back into himself at a much faster pace. He has to brace himself on Rhys, body rolling into the sensation as he brings himself closer. He’s been on edge for so long. The entire meeting had been dreadful, constantly shifting and squirming, drawing the few odd glances. All that teasing just for now, for this. Katagawa would take anything he could get. 

Almost embarrassingly quick, Kat cums, spilling over onto Rhys’ clothed chest and slumping over the man in a boneless heap. His hand reaches for Rhys’ shoulder. He feels Rhys shift, but he doesn’t pay it much time. Oh well if he’s pushed to the floor.

“It’s clean, right?”

Swallowing, Katagawa nods.

Rhys hums. Taking Katagawa by complete surprise, he grabs his face, forcing him to look into mismatched eyes. Kat’s own are glossy and red. They contort in pleasure as Rhys reaches for the plug, sliding it out achingly slow. The toy comes out with a pop, still decently lubricated- though he doesn’t know how long Kat’s been wearing it. Katagawa whimpers at the loss of sensation, fingers digging into Rhys. His eyes flutter closed, head limp in Rhys’ grasp. 

“Open your mouth.” 

Katagawa doesn’t think twice, letting his jaw fall open. Rhys hooks a thumb, pulling his jaw further. Silicon brushes against his lips, stretching his jaw wider. Katagawa’s eyes snap open, a muffled sound escaping him as he realized it was the plug Rhys was pushing into his mouth. His tongue is pressed flat, mouth aching. He squeezes his thighs, cock stirring again already. 

Once the toy is in all the way, only the plain base to be seen, Rhys smiles a genuine smile. 

“That’s much better, don’t you think?”


	23. Asphyxiation (Fl4k x Zer0)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asphyxiation  
> Fl4k x Zer0  
> Fl4k chokes Zer0, what more do I need to say?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fl4k is a blunt fucker  
> Zer0 is horny

From the moment Fl4k’s eye had lingered far too long, Zer0 had a feeling they would be followed. They were an assassin, how could they miss it? 

Despite their better judgment, Zer0 let it happen. There was a twisted thrill to the act, becoming prey to a natural predator. It sent another shiver through them, less uncomfortable and more anxious. There was no telling what Fl4k wanted, no telling if the robot had finally snapped and wanted to start with him, or if Zer0 had been a horrible liar. 

Zer0 was on the defensive, expecting all or none. 

Turning the corner, Zer0 spares a glance back. Fl4k doesn’t linger far behind, well paced and determined. He stays far enough back as to seem practiced, leading Zer0 to believe he wants something more private. Though they suppose their wildest dream could come true, it would be a fault to not consider the danger. Current friend or not, they cannot deter from the possibilities. So far though, Zer0 likes this game, a sudden string of cat and mouse.

Quick with the lock to their room, Zer0 wastes no time sliding inside. They leave it unlocked. And there’s a moment where the door slides shut and remains that way, leaving Zer0 to head deeper. It gives them the time to fiddle at the desk with their guns and all of five seconds to adjust the scope of their favourite rifle. They hear the door slide open again and the lock follows shortly after. 

Fl4k doesn’t say anything. The hairs at the back of Zer0’s neck stand up but they don’t turn around. 

“So?” Comes their one word inquiry. 

Fl4k doesn’t respond. Instead, his steps are heavy, loud to Zer0 as he approaches. Zer0’s heart pounds almost in sync. The paranoia from before rears back into their head and for a moment Zer0 can’t remember if their sword is correctly on their back. They can’t worry for long. Zer0’s heart stutters violently as Fl4k grabs them by the shoulders, spinning and shoving them into the wall on his left. 

Zer0 grunts as their back abruptly hits, hands already up and reaching for their sword. Fl4k, surprisingly, is quicker. His own hands are around Zer0’s throat before theirs can wrap around the hilt of their sword. They abandon their weapon with the sudden need to grab his wrists, three fingers clawing at metal as his grip only tightens. Zer0 has the time to curse himself, has the time to second guess what is happening. Before Zer0’s mind can scramble for the correct method of escape, Fl4k’s leg pushes between theirs. Zer0 sputters.

Fl4k leans in close, “You are so obvious,” his leg hikes higher. Zer0 sucks in a sharp breath. “Dripping with lust,” his hands press down, “I don’t have to smell you to know that the others can.”

Zer0 chokes out, “Is this how you flirt? - Invade one's space and make them, - _me_ , vulnerable?” Was that the game? The assassin wiggles and squirms, feeling lighter by the second but not trying to break free just yet.

There’s a smooth baritone chuckle, “You clearly enjoy it~” 

It takes everything in them to not whimper. Zer0 can’t argue. The digits flexing around their throat send blood straight south, pressing near painfully against their windpipe. Every inhale is labored, lungs trying desperately to fill. Being unable is one of the most thrilling things they’ve experienced. The longer Fl4k holds onto their throat, the more Zer0 wants to know where this will go. And the higher the Beastmaster’s leg travels, closer now and pressing into their crotch, the more Zer0 wants to grind down and see where that will go. 

Fairly certain about Fl4k’s intentions, Zer0 grinds against Fl4k’s clothed thigh. They don’t think Fl4k notices at first -a part of their mind says that they should be thankful, that this big robot might still be trying to kill you- but after a moment, he acts. 

One hand leaves Zer0’s throat for their waist, holding them firmly in place before they can move again. Zer0 whines. Fl4k only holds them tighter. The hand around their throat does the same, pushing Zer0’s helmet flush to the wall. They can’t breath. Their head feels light and fuzzy. Zer0’s vision is starting to darken around the edges almost painfully so, colours swimming around their head. They can’t move the way they want to, can’t move into or away from any touch. Zer0 doesn’t get the chance to wiggle away, but they don’t want to. Fl4k lightens up with almost practiced timing, thumb rubbing a soothing pattern into the fabric around Zero’s neck.

“Do you want me to let go?” The smugness of Fl4k’s voice, the certainty. Zer0 isn’t sure which is more attractive.

“Don’t-” Zer0’s wrist tightens around Fl4k’s, an air of urgency brought on even through their vocal filter.

Fl4k chuckles in response. He tugs Zer0 down onto his thigh harder, leaving room to squirm. It makes the assassin keen.

“The bed or here?”

“I do not care so - long as you pick me up and - ruin me already,” Zer0 groans.

Fl4k is more than happy to comply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little something something for all the fandoms-  
> I'm writing full stuff for some of this and just getting dragged back into multiple fandoms   
> So uh  
> yeah


	24. Touch (Aizawa x Shigaraki)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Touch  
> Shota Aizawa x Tomura Shigaraki  
> I can make this ship wholesome if I want to  
> let them be soft

The first time Shigaraki touched him was painful. He still remembers how his skin fell apart in particles of dust, muscle melting away from bone so quickly that the scar is now an awful mess of jagged skin. It’s so distinctly different in colour, horribly numb but painful to touch from the memory alone. He would still flinch if someone bumped into his arm. The expression he saw then is nothing compared to what he sees now. The man is so different, timid and bare from the chest up, waiting for permission in his lap; it almost feels like whiplash to compare the two. 

Aizawa leans back into the couch, his own shirt forgotten and pants unbuttoned but still worn. He looks up at younger man, black pupils warm and inviting. They meet the uncertainty within beautiful crimson head on. But that is far from enough to quell the fear bubbling within the younger man. 

“Go ahead,” Aizawa makes his voice soft, though it still holds that sense of order or demand he has towards his work. 

Shigaraki looks worried, but he reaches forward anyway, dry hands hovering just over the hero’s shoulders. He waits for the subtle red glow to creep into Aizawa’s eyes before he touches skin- and he audibly gasps as all five fingers connect. It’s soft but scarred under his touch, knife wounds and gunshots and things he doesn’t know drawing their own stories. Down his chest they travel, meeting the toned muscle of his stomach and the shape of his hips. He traces all that he can before Aizawa grabs his wrist so that he may blink. He has to ignore the violent mark on his elbow. 

It is hard for the younger man to believe that this hero, _his_ hero, is comfortable holding his eyes closed long enough for moisture to build within them once again. Harder still is that he doesn’t want to touch him when he knows he will only hurt him. The trust that is shown and felt through something so simple is one that Shigaraki never thought even once that he would deserve. 

Shigaraki waits for Aizawa to look at him again, meeting those black eyes before he goes back in. Wrists now released, he traces Aizawa’s neck and face, cupping his cheek. His thumb rubs over a dry lip. Shigaraki runs his hand through Aizawa’s hair, untangling the looser knots. He kneads at his scalp too, a smile creeping onto his face. Is surprising soft, his hair, damped by grease by distinctly clean. Shigaraki wonders if Aizawa thinks this feels as good as he does. 

The white haired man leans back before Aizawa has to tell him. He's happy to see the smile it brings.

“You should touch me too,” Shigaraki swallows, “ya know... Show me what it’s supposed to feel like?”

The nervousness in Shigaraki’s voice has Aizawa smiling wider, a warm and friendly smile, “Of course. I trust that you’ll know when to stop.” 

Shigaraki stares for all of three seconds before nodding happily, scooting back a little and laying on his calves. 

“I will.”

And he does. There is a certain fluidity to how easily they move together, how quickly Shigaraki learns the signs that tell him to let go. And it's with practiced ease that Aizawa manages to have Shigaraki humming again, almost like he's trying to purr. The rhythm is easy to find, combing over dry but smooth flesh. Aizawa draws down Shigaraki's sides, squeezing his hips. He accidentally bites into the flesh with his nails when Shigaraki finds that his sides are incredibly sensitive to his feather light touch. Aizawa bites his lip to muffle himself. His toes curl.

Shigaraki looks like a child in a candy shop. 

"Does that feel good?"

Aizawa nods.

Shigaraki continues down, finding little patches of skin that has Aizawa trying to remain quiet all while trying to return the favour. It is futile, he realizes, as the younger grows bolder. Shigaraki shimmies back, legs barely on the couch as he finds where on the hero's thighs is most sensitive. 

In a moment of bravery, Shigaraki slides off the couch. He plants himself between Aizawa's legs, ignoring how the hero stares down at him. A mix of confusion and lust. _He has to know.._

"You don't have to.."

Shigaraki fumbles with the band of Aizawa's jeans, "I want to," then stops, ".. if you'll let me?" Who was he kidding. He was doing something he shouldn't have, going too far when they had only done so little. Shigaraki mumbles out an excuse or an apology, making to rise only for a hand to rest on his shoulder. Then Aizawa says something Shigaraki never thought he would hear-

"I trust you."


	25. Mirrors (Chris x Piers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirrors  
> Chris Redfield x Piers Nivans  
> Mirror sex, body worship, Piers lives AU

Caught up in mapping out the changes to his flesh, Piers misses Chris standing in the doorway. He also misses how the man only dons a towel. Hung low on his hips, the plush material clings to his drying body. Piers smiles at Chris when he finally notices the man walking up behind him in the mirror, lips curling a little further with amusement at the short strands of hair that stood straight up on his head. A beautiful mess of brown and chestnut, he thinks. Chris returns the look. 

“Can I?” Chris asks. 

Piers blushes, “Uh- y-yeah..”

Gentle with his hands, Chris lays them over Piers’ hips, much higher on the right side. He brings the smaller man flush against his chest as he rests his chin on his shoulder, taking in Piers’ form through the reflection. Chris can see so much more of him like this, everything on display for the both of them. Even the nervous shuffling and fidgeting Piers does is more apparent now. It is almost endearing to see; Though, it sparks a need inside of him to go and comfort Piers, make him feel safe and protected. That feeling only grows as the flush on his patterned face worsens. 

Piers looks away from Chris. He can feel his cheeks warm, burning all the way up to his ears. Out of the corner of his eye, Piers can see his legs. He can see the top of Chris’ hands too. His own awkwardly hangs at his side, fingers unsure what to do. Saved from his useless fiddling, Chris grabs his wrist and guides his arm to rest behind Chris’ neck. Piers happily holds the older man’s nape, playing with the short tails of hair there. It helps him swallow his anxiety. Despite it feeling as though the fear is trying to eat him alive, he stands there, stable enough on his own two legs for the moment because Chris is holding him. Knowing that Chris is here makes it easier to look at the consequences of what he'd done, at the remains of his body. Piers doesn’t want to feel the tight pull of skin that only aches and throbs. 

Chris’ hands start there. He feels up Piers’ right side, hand light as he follows the intricate patterns up to the brunette’s shoulder. It takes everything in Piers to not flinch at the first touch. His shoulder still jumps and his mouth still opens on a quiet sound. Mortified, Piers shies away from the touch. But Chris is gentle as he follows, leaving room for Piers to retreat and only touching him again when the man’s shoulders soften. Piers will be ever grateful for how patient Chris has become. 

Smoothing his hand out against Piers’ chest, Chris holds him closer in a careful hug. He nestles his head in the back of Piers’ neck, peppering little kisses down his untouched shoulder. Encouraged by the soft kneading against his scalp, Chris travels down Piers’ spine. Though he can only reach so far, Chris touches what he can. And he reaches quickly, cut short only when he feels Piers’ knees start to buckle. 

Chris wastes no time in guiding the man to the floor. He’s still kissing the back of Piers’ neck as they go, easing him down to rest in his lap. The smaller man winces when Chris has to tighten his arms around him, hand holding on painfully to the taller man’s neck. Chris does all he can to calm Piers, fully aware of how the kid beats himself up for being weak. _It’s not your fault_ , Chris tries to remind him. But there is only so much he can do to ease the troubles that lurk in his mind. 

Chris doesn’t mind when the towel falls away. His legs are dry enough for it to not be an issue. He cages them around Piers’, holding him close. Piers pulls on Chris’ neck, shifting himself higher until his hips are against Chris’ own. It’s annoyingly slow with only one hand to help, but he appreciates that Chris lets him take his time. Piers appreciates it even more when Chris nestles back into him, playing with his hair. It is easier, somewhat, to watch himself in the mirror without the added gaze. He’s had Chris’ eyes on him a hundred times before, but like this, knowing that he isn’t watching somehow makes it more comfortable to see himself. It is still hard to ignore how different it feels now to be held. 

Tearing his gaze from Chris, Piers manages to look clearly at himself. He has to admit that he sees the appeal. Seeing what Chris was doing to his chest, how his head moves as he kisses and licks up and down his back. It was amazing to see what Chris was doing to him like this even with everything else.

“Want me to take this slow?” Chris mumbles. 

Piers has to think for a moment. Of all the times they had done this, fast or rough was often the calling card. He enjoyed it greatly, head rummaging through his memory to produce blood pumping imagery that sent him down a spiral of- It was too much to think about. So Piers murmurs, “Whatever you wanna do..”

Chris hums, “Should I tell you what I want to do and go from there?”

Piers can feel his heart flutter, “I think I would like that.”

Placing one last kiss on his spine, Chris rests his head on Piers’ shoulder, “Well, I want you watch -you don’t have to of course- while I show you just how good your body looks,” the flush on Piers travels down, “I am going to kiss every scar you have, every mark, every dip and mound..” Chris breathes in, eyes fluttering as he creates his own fantasy too, “And when I’m sure you understand how I feel, when I’m sure you _feel_ it too, I’m going to take you nice and slow.”

Piers bites his lips, paranoia and arousal swimming around in his head in an intoxicating mix.

“Remember the first time? When I wanted to kiss every inch and feel every part of you?” Piers nods. Chris smiles, “I want to do that to you all over again.”

The brunette squirms a bit. Blood is quickly moving south for the both of them. It is hard to ignore the semi hard-on Chris sports, pressing slowly into his back side. It is harder to ignore his own, straining against his sweats. 

“I.. would like that,” Piers feels very small right now. But he’s safe because he’s with Chris, his Captain, the man that saved him when he was more than ready to sacrifice himself for the BSAA. 

As Chris said he would, he starts slow. Groping at Muscle and scar tissue, Chris roams the expanse of Piers’ chest and sides. He kneads at the man’s stomach, petting over his hips, under his arms. The uneven terrain left an interesting impression, one that would never stop feeling unique to Piers. Strange already to his hands, the scar tissue feels stranger to his lips. The texture he feels as he plants kiss after soft kiss to Piers’ shoulder and neck was one that simply couldn’t be replicated. Piers might not be able to feel him as well on his right, but the tickle of Chris’ lips has him humming. 

Chris creates a trail of wet up Piers’ neck, kissing just under his chin. He places a peck behind the Brunette’s ear and Piers shivers. Then Chris plants a sloppy kiss to Piers’ cheek. It’s sticky and the saliva clings among the grooves made throughout his skin, but Piers can’t seem to mind the coolness it brings. He sighs, sinking limply into Redfield’s embrace. Lazily, he turns his head to meet him, peppering a tiny kiss to Chris’ mouth himself. In return, Chris takes him in a more firm and grounding kiss. Piers wiggles, body begging for him to turn around and let Chris devour him completely. Chris doesn’t need to hold him in place to keep him there. 

Gone from grabbing at his chest, Chris’ hands grope at Piers’ thighs, squeezing and massaging near his hips. Piers whines into their kiss, moving with Chris, following after his hands and pushing against them when they squeeze at his pelvis. He can’t stop himself from rolling his hips up, hoping that the action would bring him some sort of friction. He finds no such luck. No closer to his goals, Piers brings his thighs together instead, rubbing them together as though the fabric of both his briefs and sweats would help ease the pressure that has pushed his erection to full mast. This, too, doesn’t help. It only makes him yearn for Chris’ touch, makes him feel distantly like his teenage self when he’d chase after anything for his release. 

“Do you want me help?” Chris must have read his goddamn mind. 

Enthusiastically, Piers nods. For once, he can see the smirk that pulls at Chris’ face in response to his desperation. 

“You’re so good for me.. Always so good.” 

Finally, Chris gropes at his crotch. Piers lets out a sob of relief. His member throbs within it’s confines, his leg twitching. He tries desperately not to kick out at the sudden pleasure. Masterful as always with his hand, Chris rubs him through his sweats, teasing the blood further down his cock. It’s not hard for him to wrap his fingers around the bulging fabric, getting a lovely hold of his dick. And with how he twists his wrist just so- Piers swears he could cum right now from that touch alone. But he doesn’t want to do that, and all the whines and keens coming from his throat are doing nothing to deter Chris. If anything, they only encourage him.

Piers rolls his hips into Chris’ fist, nails leaving crescents in the man’s shoulder as he lifts out of his lap. His body was in control, chasing after every jerk and twist and pump Chris gave him. A perfect rhythm even through the many layers. Piers curses, eyes squeezing shut as he feels the pressure build and build. His muscles tighten in his stomach, chest trying to curl in. Chris’ hand pushes him back down, keeps him still. 

“Look at yourself. So beautiful, so handsome for me.”

The mirror was the last thing on Piers mind right now.

Chris let’s go of him and Piers thinks he could cry out. He does, actually, eyes snapping open to look at Chris. His disappointment doesn’t last long. His Captain slides his hand into his sweats, deft fingers slip right under his briefs and head straight for his dick. He might cry for real this time because the sob he lets out is loud and his eye is dotted with moisture. Piers’ whole abdomen shakes, going rigid as the pressure tips and sends a cascade of pleasure through his body. He’d be embarrassed if that orgasm wasn’t one of the best damn things he’s experienced so far tonight. Piers sags in relief, whimpering softly as Chris milks what he can out of him. Chris doesn’t stop pumping him until his dick feels softer in his hands, and even then his hand never leaves Piers’ pants. 

Chris hardly offers him a moment's break, “Think you can give me one more?”

Piers doesn’t know what to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because this is what I spend my time on, you can actually read the full thing!  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/27481219  
> And if that doesn't work, it's 'My Blood, My Blood Spilled For Your Love'


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